Love is my Weakness
by Wings of a Bird
Summary: Everything is going well for Serafima. She has been selected to be a part of Baron von Strucker's experiment. She has excelled in all of the tests. She's even made some new friends. But what will happen when a murderer uses them to blackmail her?
1. Chapter 1

The three of us stand together, holding hands, the twins and me. None of us want to be the first to break the silence. To leave. Even though we know we must soon. We can't let go of this moment. It might be the last time we're together. I wonder what will happen to us tomorrow. I wonder if one of us will die, or if all of us will. I wonder how I can survive if I lose both of them. In just the few months that we have known each other, we have become closer than I have ever been to anyone. They are the first people that I have been able to trust. I don't want to live without them.

"Promise me something," I say almost desperately.

"Anything." Pietro and Wanda speak together, as they often do.

Squeezing their hands and looking into their eyes, I whisper through the emotion that closes my throat, "Don't leave me tomorrow. Promise you'll both make it."

They both nod, embracing me. "Only if you'll promise the same." Wanda says into my ear. I can only nod, speaking beyond me.

Reluctantly, we separate, knowing it is time. Wanda is the first to say good night and leave for her room. I'm about to do the same, but Pietro catches my hand. I turn back, wondering if he has something else to say, and he surprises me with a kiss. It's just a light peck, but it makes me blush to the roots of my red hair.

He grins at the surprised expression on my face. "You didn't see that coming?" he asks playfully, but I can hear the catch in his voice. We're both terrified of what might happen tomorrow. That kiss was meant as a goodbye, just in case.

"If- If one of us doesn't-" I began.

"Don't talk like that." Pietro cuts me off. "We both promised, remember?"

I nodded, then hugged him tightly. "Good night, Pietro." I whisper, tears building up in my throat, then turn away before he can see them on my face.

"Good night, Sera." He replies.

: :

Exhausted, I lean against my closed door, torn between exhilaration and worry. I just had my first kiss. But I might die tomorrow. Those two thoughts keep circling around in my mind.

"Concerned about your little friends?" a voice asks from the darkness.

I whirl around, startled, searching for the speaker.

"I can fix that, you know." The voice continues, its owner stepping into the sliver of moonlight that slips through the curtains.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I say to him, trying to buy time. Trying to remember where I've seen that face before, heard that voice.

"Don't play games with me, girl!" He replies sharply. "I'm not a fool."

"What do you want from me?" I ask, memory kindling within me. Of course. He is Kazimir Ovechkin. I've heard tales of his terrible cruelty, his unbounded malice. His slaughter of children.

As quickly as his anger appeared, it fades away. A thin smile appears on his lips. "So quick to get to the point. I always liked that about you." A shiver runs down my spine. He's been watching me? I wonder for how long. "Put simply, I want you to work for me."

Suspicious, I ask, "Doing what?" I don't trust stalkers.

"Oh, a little spy work here and there, espionage, perhaps the odd assassination or two." He says casually, as if it's unimportant. "Nothing you haven't been trained for."

My eyes narrow to slits. I'm not fooled. Working for him, I'd be killing people, not spying on them. "No." I'm not about to go work for this man who destroys the lives of others. Not unless he threatens Wanda and Pietro. I can only pray he won't go there.

He raises an eyebrow, smile growing wider. "I thought you might say that. Am I really so repulsive?"

I don't deign to reply to his so obviously rhetorical question.

"What if I were to sweeten the deal?" he continued. "I will ensure that both of your little friends–" –I interrupt, denying their existence, but he simply ignores me- "Both of your little friends will survive tomorrow if you agree to work for me."

The answer is out of my mouth before his sentence is finished. "No." Pietro and Wanda will survive tomorrow, they promised. No matter if he 'ensures' it or not.

"I wasn't finished." He says sharply, then his voice returns to its usual smooth tones. "If you refuse, I will ensure that they don't." He smirks triumphantly as he delivers the ultimatum I so feared. It isn't a question of if he can do it. I know he can. I've heard the stories they tell of Kazimir Ovechkin, ruthless murderer. I've seen the aftermath of his ruthlessness. It's a question of whether or not I will let him. Do I care enough about Wanda and Pietro to sacrifice myself, my soul, whoever Ovechkin sends me to kill, to save them? The answer is immediate. Yes. I made that decision when I decided to let them into my life, into my heart. But fury still boils up inside me at the choice I am faced with. Ovechkin knows I can't refuse. I can see it in the cruel smirk that taunts me. And I hate him all the more for it.

My voice barely in control, I growl, "What would you have me do?"

That hateful smirk widens, and I feel the sudden urge to wipe it off of his face with my fist. But I can't anger him. I can't risk their lives. So I force myself to relax, to stare at the wall instead of at him.

"Oh, nothing at present." He finally says after a long, tense silence. He sounds almost bored. I'm almost shaking with the anger that burns in my chest. "You're of little use to me without those lovely powers you'll receive tomorrow."

"And if the operation kills me?" I lock eyes with him, challenging.

"It won't." he replies confidently, turning to leave my room. He pauses in the doorway. "Oh, I forgot one more thing." He faces me again, threatening now. "If you tell anyone, _anyone_ about this little conversation of ours, _especially_ your friends, they'll be dead by morning." He shuts the door behind him, and I am left alone with my growing desperation and fury.

: :

The next morning, we're all rudely awakened from our slumber by the soldiers, their booted feet thundering down the hall, doors clanging open, harsh orders given. Not that any of us were really sleeping. Especially not me. What sleep I had gotten was fleeting and riddled with nightmares. And that was only after I had punched the wall a few times and cried myself into exhaustion. I was exhausted. It didn't matter to them, though. All I represented to them was a means of getting more power. They didn't care how I felt.

Despite my still-smoldering fury leftover from last night, I force myself to smile at Wanda and Pietro when I see them being herded towards the lab like the rest of us. Pietro's eyes are full of our little secret, our shared moment, and pain slices through me as I realize we will never share a moment like that again. Wanda seems to notice that something is off with me and gives me a questioning look. She always was very perceptive when it came to people. But I shake my head, giving her a weak smile. I hope she interprets that to mean that I'm just nervous. All of us are. But some are better at hiding it than others. Those of us who have been on our own for longer, grown used to fending for ourselves, hiding things. Some of the others are hardly more than children. I suppose I don't really have much on them, but I feel much older. Especially after last night.

We're herded like so many obedient ducklings into a line to wait outside the lab while they finish preparations within. I feel a strange little prick in my elbow, and I look down to see a needle being retracted from my arm. The man that brought me out here is surreptitiously returning it to his sleeve. I glace around quickly and see needles slid into both Wanda and Pietro's arms, but no one else. This must be Ovechkin's way of keeping us alive. I wonder why he doesn't ensure the others' survival.

After what seems like an eternity of tense, silent waiting, the doors open and we are ushered inside. It's very sterile-looking. And rather empty. I expected it to be more cluttered. But there's just 32 large refrigerator-shaped things. One for each of us. Every box has a little symbol on it, telling what power it will give to you. There's all sorts. Fire, strength, shape-shifting, the list is endless. My guard, holding me by the arm, takes me to the one with a lightning bolt on it. Despite myself, I smile. Lightning was one of the ones I had hoped for. As my guard turns me around to place me inside the metal container, I glance around the room, searching for Wanda and Pietro. They meet my eyes and give a little reassuring smile. Pietro's got speed, Wanda telepathy. I wish I could have the chance to see them in action once they have their powers, but I doubt Ovechkin will be so kind.

Straps are pulled tight over my body to keep me restrained. I wonder just how painful this will be. Then the doors shut on every other container but mine. I glance at the guard by me, questioning, only to feel another prick in the crook of my elbow. What on earth can that be for? I think as he steps back, grabbing the heavy metal door to mine and heaving it shut. I hear a lock slide home and I'm left alone in the darkness.

The countdown starts: "три . . . два . . . один . . ." And everything but the pain disappears. I'm screaming, I know I am, but I can't hear it. My body feels like it's burning from the inside out, light flashing across my vision. I've never felt anything like this before. It's exhilarating and torturous at the same time. I feel powerful. And powerless. I feel alive most of all. But then it starts to slip away. The scorching pain, the light, the screaming. It all disappears slowly. And I sink into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: It's finally here! Chapter 2! Sorry it's so short, I just kind of hit a spot where it worked well to stop. But at least it's written, right? :D**

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I don't expect to wake up. I don't want to wake up. Because if I don't wake up, if I'm dead, he would have lost. He would be cheated of his triumph. But I do. I slowly shift into consciousness, the pain resurfacing. But it's duller now. I can take it. I've always been good at swallowing pain.

My eyes hesitantly open. I'm sure they do. I feel them blinking, my eyelashes against my cheeks. But I can't see anything. It's all still dark. Panic grips me, my chest tightening. My breath comes faster and faster, and my hands grope around for something, anything, to hold on to. It can't be. I reach my fingers up to my face, praying for there to be a blindfold covering my eyes, just something to explain why I can't see. They feel all over my face, but there's nothing. Just the regular features. I rub my eyes hard, wondering if there's something in them. But it does nothing. I'm blind. Panic grips me afresh, and I start sobbing uncontrollably, desperation erasing any shame I might have felt.

Booted feet, as if summoned by my tears, enter the room, grab my arms, and hold me down, even as I struggle. I'm desperate now, and as the fear rises, electricity crackles along my skin. I hear several of them gasp in surprise, but they don't let go. A hand shifts, and a needle sinks into my forearm. Blessed oblivion takes me once more.

: :

I'm calmer the next time I wake because I already know I won't be able to see anything. So instead, I feel. My fingers grope all around me, and I find myself lying on a more or less smooth concrete floor. I can't feel any walls, so I slowly sit up, raising a hand above my head to ensure I don't smack it on anything. Finding nothing, I straighten, then unsteadily make my way to my feet. I feel weak. I'm not sure if it's because of the operation or the drugs they've been pumping into me at every opportunity. Probably both. Carefully feeling ahead with my toes, I take my first step in this new environment.

With a few more, I find the first wall. It's concrete, my fingers tell me, just like the floor. I follow along it, my steps tentative and hesitant. It leads me to a corner. I turn, keeping my hand pressed to the wall. I find two more corners, then a glass wall. At least I assume it's glass. It's smoother than the rest of my tiny cell. Suddenly I feel exposed, realizing that anyone could be on the other side of that glass, watching me, and I'd have no idea they were there. Panic rises again, and I try to fight it down, knowing it'll only get me drugged up again. But it's persistent. I back against one of the safe, concrete walls, trembling, electricity sparking up. My breath keeps coming faster and faster, but I'm not crying. At least not yet.

But even this brings those booted feet thudding toward me. The glass pane slides open, and more hands grab me. I lash out, feel my hand smack into someone, feel them give beneath my blow, feel the electricity coursing through me. They won't send me back this time. All of the other hands suddenly release me, and I fall against the wall. Their boots scuffle around their fallen comrade.

They start whispering. I can't catch all of it, but I distinctly hear a few words like "dead" and "killed." Confusion swirls through my head. I can't have killed him. All I did was hit him. Then I remember the feeling of all that power, all that energy coursing through me. I barely hear them dragging the man's body out of my cell. Disbelief and horror drown it all out. I'm a murderer. I can't control it. I'm dangerous.

: :

I stay huddled in the corner, as far from the glass wall as possible. And they leave me alone. For a few days, at least. And I'm grateful. Even though they put food and water in my cell with me, they don't try to force me to eat it. Some part of me hopes that they'll just let me die in here alone, before I hurt anyone else. Maybe if I die, he'll leave Pietro and Wanda alone. But I know he wouldn't. He'd just go after them and force them to help him.

But even knowing this, I can't make myself get up. I can't make myself tell him to go ahead with whatever awful things he has planned. I just sit there in the corner, my mind taking me to Before. Before the experiment. Before Ovechkin. Before the darkness. I lose myself in my memories, remembering Pietro and Wanda, the only two bright spots in my life. I relive all the best moments of our friendship. It's the only way to dull the pain.

This doesn't last for long, though. I can't be sure how many days it takes, but eventually, Ovechkin himself comes to visit me. At first, I don't care. I'm far too weakened by hunger and drugs and pain. But then he grabs me by the throat, forces my head up. I can't see him, but I can imagine the cold expression on his face. He's angry with me for giving up like this. He thought I'd fight harder. And I would have. Before. But this is not Before. So I give up. Except he won't let me.

"Look, Korzhakov." He spits into my face. "I chose you because I thought you could handle this. You seemed stronger than the others. Every second you spend in this corner is proving me wrong. And I don't like being wrong. Sometimes I get so angry when I'm wrong that I kill people. Be careful, Korzhakov. Don't get on my bad side." He releases me and I slump back against the wall. As he thuds away in his boots, he tells me, "If you want to keep your friends alive, you'll be ready to start your training tomorrow morning. If not, you can rot in your little corner for all I care." Then he's gone. And I'm out of time.

So the next morning, when the booted feet thunder into my cell, I don't say anything, don't protest. I just stand and let them take me away. They lead me through a twisting labyrinth of tunnels, which probably isn't that confusing, but since I'm blind, it's pretty easy to lose my sense of direction. I'm forced to a halt suddenly, and I can tell that Ovechkin is there.

"One good thing about you being blind," he said from a few feet away. "I don't have to blindfold you to keep you from discovering your secrets." His voice was smug.

I want to ask him if he's been thinking on that one since yesterday, but I keep my mouth shut and my seething fury behind a mask of indifference. Instead, I asked, "What am I doing here?"

"I'm glad you asked." He replied. "To start out, you're going to get a haircut. We can't have that long hair of yours getting in your way." With this, he fingers a lock of it. I can feel his breath on my ear. So I jerk away, disgusted, but the man on my left holds me in place. And I realize what this is really about. It's not a matter of efficiency or practicality. This is all just to show me how powerless I am, that I can't even decide when I cut my hair. He's asserting his dominance. As if he hasn't done that enough already.

Obediently, I allow them to seat me in a hard little chair and shave all my fiery red hair off. Through it all, I keep telling myself that it doesn't really matter, that it's just hair. But all I can hear in my head is Pietro telling me how beautiful my hair is. He said so the first time we met. I was putting it into a ponytail to get it out of the way for the first set of trials. But it didn't want to do what I told it and I got frustrated. I said that I was going to chop it all off someday, and Pietro, who I didn't even know at the time, said that would be a shame because it was so beautiful. He said it with that little smirk of his that I had later grown to love. I can still see his face in my head. And even though I know I'll never see it again, it still brings me a small measure of comfort. It gets me through the feeling that a big part of me is falling to the floor, dead, along with all of my hair.

When it's finally over, I rise. I don't touch the stubble left on my head, don't acknowledge what he's done at all, I just stand there, waiting for someone to lead me away. I hate my dependence on others now. I hate the blindness. It feels like something is just in front of my eyes, blocking my vision, and that it will be removed any moment, but it never is. It's horribly infuriating. The booted feet grab my arms and steer me out of the room. I hear Ovechkin's steps preceding us.

"It's time to start your training." He says. "Though I'm not sure what I'll be able to do with you since you're blind. Ah well, we'll figure it out."

I don't reply. He doesn't deserve that much. He's ruined my life, and he knows it. He revels in it.

I hate him.

* * *

 **A/N: There it is, folks! Hope you enjoyed! Please remember to leave me a review, I NEED feedback!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry it's been so long, I just finished with my school's musical and life's been super crazy. And I apologize for how short this chapter is. But at least it's here, right? Enjoy! :D**

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"Now, before we start you doing anything particularly dangerous, you need to learn to control those firebolts of yours." Ovechkin says to me.

I snort. "And who's going to teach me? You?"

He laughs as though my suggestion is completely ridiculous. "Of course not, my dear." I cringe at the pet name. "I have no experience with controlling this kind of biological enhancement. You're going to have to figure this out on your own."

The booted feet on either side of me shove me into a room. I lose my balance and fall flat on my face, of course. My face burning with embarrassment, I rise to my feet and turn to what I hope is the right direction.

"That's why I've returned you to your little home. You have until sunset to take control." Then he's gone.

This man is so frustrating! I feel like screaming at him, using all the swear words I know to tell him what I really think. But I know I can't. So I bite my tongue to keep it all inside. But the anger doesn't go away. I'm not sure it ever will now.

Then an idea comes to me. I can channel that anger, use it to become more powerful. And maybe, one day, I will be powerful enough to stand up to him, to kill him, to end his reign of terror, and still save Pietro and Wanda. But for now I am weak. So I must become strong.

: :

I sit cross-legged on the concrete floor and hold my hand out in front of me, palm up. I reach inside myself for the electricity which has become so closely bound with the anger and summon it. It crackles and snaps, flowing through my veins, down my arm, to my fingertips. I hold it there, forcing it to build up in the hollow of my hand. It takes all my fierce concentration to keep it tied to me for even the few moments I manage.

Then it explodes, throwing me back into the wall. Like it has every time I've tried today. I let out a strangled scream of frustration and pound my fist into the concrete wall, over and over again. My knuckles are bruised and bleeding by the time I'm done. It doesn't matter, though, because they already were. I know I have to succeed, but I'm running out of time. How does Ovechkin expect me to do this?

I can feel the electricity sparking at my fingertips again, called up by my frustration. I still can't keep it down. I try to take deep breaths, to bring it back inside me, but it refuses. Then another idea occurs to me. Ovechkin wants to use this as a weapon, right? So the only way to keep him happy is to make it one. So instead of turning my palms inward to limit the lightning, I turn them outward and call up even more, blasting it at the wall. The electricity surges through me, even stronger than when I'd killed the man. I feel it crackling in the air even after it's all gone out of me. I rise to my feet and carefully make my way over to the wall I'd hit.

My fingers explore the damage, and I feel a smile slip over my face at the power I hold. I am not weak. Not anymore. And I know Ovechkin is pleased with my progress, too, because in moments, he enters my little cell and says, "That's enough for now."

I have triumphed.

: :

That night, I finally sleep. For the first time in what must be a week, I actually sleep. Now, it only lasts for a few hours before I start having nightmares, but it's something. Because when I wake up, I feel like I can handle this. I feel in control. And that's in short supply these days. And, of course, it doesn't last very long, either.

"Now that you've figured yourself out, we're going to start on your real training." I'm already wide awake when he barges into my cell.

By now I'm used to his abrupt manner of ordering me around, so I just stand and let his booted feet grab my arms and lead me out. Resistance won't get me anywhere. We walk into another room and I hear the door slide shut behind us. The men release me and move away, but Ovechkin comes in close.

"For what I need you to do," he said in my ear. "You'll need to know how to fight."

 _I know how to fight_ , I think. _They taught us that during the trials. You were there, remember?_ But I purse my lips tightly to keep these things from escaping. I've made silence a sort of defiance, almost revenge, for him taking everything from me. He can force me to do what he wants, chop all my hair off, keep me from my friends, but he won't make me talk.

He forms my hand into a fist with his, so close now I can feel his breath on my cheek, his heat against my back. I fight the urge to shrink away. But there is no escaping this man. So I let him guide me through all the basic punches that have become second nature to me over not just the trial period, but my entire life. In a tough world of kill or be killed, you have to know how to fight.

He realizes that I know what I'm doing after a few minutes, takes a step away from me and says, "You're not new to this."

 _No, duh, genius,_ I think, inwardly rolling my eyes.

My thoughts must show on my face, because I can hear the smirk in his voice with these next words: "Then show me what you can do. Fight Zolnerowich over here."

 _No problem._ I roll my shoulders and take a stance, suddenly realizing I have no idea if I'm facing the right direction. I have no idea where he is. Oh, well. No backing out now. I try listening extra hard, but he's practically on top of me before I hear a slight rustle of fabric signaling his arrival. I get a fist in the stomach for being too slow. I double over, coughing. It reminds me far too much of when I was a child, before I learned to fight, and the bigger kids would push me around. I don't like being reminded of that time. So I force myself to straighten, wincing at the coil of pain centered over my belly button.

"Again?" Zolnerowich's voice is mocking. That stiffens my resolve even more. I have to prove I can do this. I nod, taking my stance again. This time, I'm a little quicker. I manage to bring my arm up to block his blow, but then he twists it around behind my back and throws me to the concrete floor. I struggle, but know he's gotten the best of me. I nod, acknowledging his victory, and he lets me up. We take our stances again. I almost sense him swinging his fist at my face and duck, rolling to get away from him. I come up into a crouch, hear him stumble at the lack of resistance, and then his boots thudding on the concrete towards me. Using my arms to support me, I lash out with my leg at his feet. I hit them solidly and bring him crashing down. Right on top of me.

I hear Ovechkin's derisive laugh. I will show him. Both of them. He tries to grab me, but I'm too quick. I writhe away from him, desperate to keep him from getting me. As I army crawl across the floor, my heel flies up and catches Zolnerowich in the chin. He grunts in pain and slumps to the floor.

Slowly, I stand, uncertain if Zolnerowich is unconscious or just injured. After listening for a few moments to his heavy breathing, I realize I've beaten him. This is further confirmed by Ovechkin's next words.

"Well done." He says, slowly clapping. "I didn't think you could do it."

My jaw clenches. How many times had I heard those exact words sneered at me. Men don't think women can do anything. Then a surge of pride hits me as I realize that I've shown Ovechkin that I'm not useless, not even blind. I raise my chin, hoping I look defiant. Hoping I'm actually looking in his direction.

"But it's not good enough." His voice is sharp, and my pride deflates like he's stuck a pin into it, leaving only my stone-hard bitterness. "I can't send you to do anything like that. You only beat Zolnerowich through luck." I hate the fact that what he says is true. "I need you to be better than that."

I nearly snap at him, but I remind myself just in time that I'm not talking to him. Even so, I can be better. I just have to figure out how to fight without my eyes. I've done harder things. This couldn't be too bad, could it?

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 **A/N: There it is! Please R &R, I love getting reviews! Hope to be updating soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Look at me, getting an update out quickly! :) This chapter gets a little violent, just so you know. I didn't originally intend on that happening, but it did. Anyway, here it is! Chapter 4!**

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I dream of Wanda. She comes to save me. She kills Ovechkin. Zolnerowich. All of the booted feet. She enters my cell. I see her. I really see her. I think she's come to get me out.

 _Wanda!_ I cry, rising to hug her tightly, but she throws me off of her, and I see her face, twisted with disgust and anger.

 _What is it? What's wrong?_ I ask, horribly confused.

 _Do you know what it feels like?_ She says. _To die?_

 _You know I do._ I reply.

 _Now, so do I._ She says, her eyes empty. _And it's your fault._ Suddenly, she's on me, her left forearm pinning my throat to the wall, her right hand poised above my heart. Red mist flows around us. I feel a tearing, popping sensation that isn't all unpleasant. At first. Then, horrific pain bursts through my chest as my heart, still pulsing with life, is torn out. My throat is raw before I even know I'm screaming. And I see blood running down her arm as my heart sits in her hand. I fall to the ground, my hand feeling the ragged hole in my chest.

 _Why?_ It's just a whisper, all I can manage.

 _You failed us. He's dead because of you._ Her face is close to mine.

 _No. No. Not Pietro. He can't be._

 _He is. You killed him._

 _I'm sorry, so sorry._

 _It's too late, Sera._ And then I'm gone, everything black.

But I'm not dead. I feel, still. I feel my throat, raw. _Am I still screaming?_ I feel tears on my face. My fingers reach to the ragged hole, but it's not there. My heart still beats. _How? I saw her rip it out._

And then I know. Wanda would never do that to me. It wasn't real.

I'm still telling myself that when the booted feet thunder into my cell and pull me up. I don't know how long I've been awake. It doesn't matter. I can't make myself care.

"Already awake, I see." Ovechkin greets me as I exit my concrete block. "Good. I hope you're ready for another full day."

I feel like crying ( _a side effect from not sleeping enough?_ ), but nod, swallowing the tears. He can't see my vulnerability. He'd only exploit it.

"Let's get to it, then."

: :

He throws me against the wall, and I slump, spent. My entire body is aching after what must be six or seven bouts. Zolnerowich seems to be taking his revenge for his defeat last time. He pins me down, left forearm choking my throat. A brief flash of Wanda's face comes before my eyes, and I shake it off. That was just a dream.

But this is real. And I'm going lightheaded. So after a brief struggle, I slap his arm to let him know he's won. He rises, and I cough, sucking air in as fast as it will come. Great. Now my head hurts, too. As if I'm not in enough pain.

"Again?" Zolnerowich's voice carries a sneer. I try to make myself rise to that challenge, to get to my feet and face him, but I know he'll just beat me again. I can't focus. And when I can't focus, I can't fight. When he sees I'm not going to get up, he laughs mockingly, takes a few strides towards me, and drives his boot toe into my stomach. A moan, half gasp, half scream, escapes me.

"That's enough, Zolnerowich." Ovechkin says, and I hear their feet scuff on the ground as they leave, and I'm alone with the pain.

I curl up right there on the floor, clenching my fists. I can't cry. Not now. It doesn't matter how much pain I'm in, or how tired I feel, or how much I miss Wanda and Pietro. I tell myself that as the tears escape my tightly closed eyelids. I can't stop them. My entire body shakes with the sobs. I hate my weakness. I have to prove to them that I can do this. That I'm not breaking. But I know I am. I can almost feel my heart splitting. It feels like it did when Wanda ripped it out. It doesn't hurt, though. It almost feels good, like it's been waiting to do this for so long, and now it is. And I want it to. I want it to burst apart, end my life. End the pain.

The last time I felt like this was right before I volunteered for the experiments. I remember it like it was yesterday.

 _I'm curled up in a little ball against the wall. They won't find me here. I can just fade away. No one will care. No one will even notice. And then I'll meet my mom. If I don't find oblivion after death, that is. But I push that thought away. Anything that might keep me from this is bad. What's left to keep me here, anyway? All the people I know are the ones who've made my life as hard as it is._

 _But they've also made me who I am._ And who am I? _I ask myself._ No one. _No one. So it doesn't matter if I go. There's nobody for me to make a difference to anymore. Nobody who I can help._

 _I'm nearly gone by the time I hear about it. Some baron is looking for volunteers for his crackpot experiments. Von Strucker is the name I hear. He claims that if we join him, we will change the world. I was foolish enough to believe him. To believe that a girl like me could make life better for people._

And now, because of my stupidity, Ovechkin's going to make a lot of people's lives a whole lot worse through me. Now I have no choice but to do what he asks, or he'll end the lives of the only two people who care about me in the world. If I hadn't volunteered, they wouldn't be in danger. If I hadn't volunteered, I wouldn't be here. If I hadn't volunteered, the pain would already be over for me.

Life is sick and twisted.

The tears have stopped now. And I realize that I'm angry. Good. I feel the electricity crackling and surging through me, jumping from nerve to nerve. Slowly, I rise to my feet.

"I'm ready." I say. I know Ovechkin can hear me.

He and Zolnerowich enter.

"Done crying, детка?*" he asks, still smug.

Little does he know what I've got in store for him.

Because now, I can focus.

We take our stances opposite each other. I hear him come for me, feel his fist swinging through the air. I grab his arm with my right hand and roll him over my shoulder, throwing him to the ground. He grunts, taken by surprise. My left hand, lightning leaping to my fingertips, digs into his chest. I use all my fury, the memory of all his jibes, his insults, to send it surging through him.

I feel his heart stutter, his breath catch, and then they stop.

He goes limp.

I've beat him for good now.

There is silence in the room for a few moments, except for my heavy breathing. Then Ovechkin laughs. But I can hear an underlying current of fear.

I have scared him.

I am powerful.

I can win now.

The exhilaration of my victory courses through my veins like the lightning had moments ago. I showed him.

"Well done." He says, and though he tries hard to hide it, I still pick up on the fear that flows beneath all his words. "It looks like it's time to move on to something a little more advanced."

I rise as more booted feet—3 men?—enter the room.

"Let's see if you can beat them armed."

I don't question if I can. I know I can. I still feel the adrenaline, erasing my exhaustion, doubt, fear. Everything but cold fury. They will pay.

I call up the lightning. I feel its power. I've never been stronger. I raise my hands, showing them what I've got on my side. I can almost sense their fear on the air. But orders are orders, and they must obey. Two of them come at me. The first I elbow in the stomach, briefly putting him out of action. The second I hit with a full blast of electricity. I can smell burnt flesh, and it brings me pleasure. His body thumps to the concrete.

But as I get ready to take care of the other one that attacked me, a deafening crack sounds through the room, and a sudden jolt of pain rips through my left hand. A hoarse scream is torn from my throat, and I hunch over my injured hand. He shot me. I can feel the blood, warm and sticky, flowing down my arm. And the pain. It feels like the lightning coursing through me, but just in that one spot. I can hardly think for how much it hurts.

But I can feel. And I know I'm angry. He hurt me. He deserves the same. I raise my uninjured right hand, sticky with blood, and call up the lightning.

And he's dead. I don't need to feel his pulse stop to know that.

Then the medical team is all over me, grabbing my hand, cleaning it, bandaging it up. I know it must hurt, but I can hardly feel it for all the electricity still crackling in my veins. For all the anger still burning in my gut. I hate them all.

Then I hear Ovechkin. Out of all the confusion surrounding me, his voice carries to my ears. "Will she be able to fight with her hand injured like that?"

Another voice, probably one of the doctors. "It's hard to say. Her hand will probably never fully heal, but given time, she should be able to adapt."

"How long?" He sounds tense. "How long until she's healed enough to fight?"

"A few weeks." The doctor replies.

Ovechkin curses. "I can't wait that long. I need her ready now."

"You can't ask her to fight in this condition." He says. "Not after everything else. She can't cope."

"Then I'll just have to find myself someone else, won't I?"

 _No._ I can hardly think, but I know that's bad. Someone else means someone else with power. And someone else with power means Wanda or Pietro. I can't let that happen.

I have to show him I can do this.

* * *

 ***baby**

 **A/N: There you have it, folks! Hope you enjoyed my most recent update! Please R &R, reviews make my day!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This chapter didn't really want to be written, so it's a bit short, but it gets to some interesting stuff. Don't worry, soon we'll get to some missions and people and it's going to be exciting! :) But for now, this is what I've got. Enjoy!**

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I will show him I can do this.

So as soon as the medical team is done with my hand, I rise, ignoring their protests. Though I'm swaying with pain and exhaustion, I go right up to where Ovechkin's voice is coming from and just stand there. Without words, I tell him I'm ready to go again, though I know I'm not. I know I'm in too much pain to be of any use to him, or anyone else for that matter. But as long as he thinks I can do it, that's all that matters. I can't risk him going after Pietro or Wanda. They need each other.

But then I feel light-headed. At first I think it's just exhaustion, that it'll pass in a few seconds, but it doesn't. And there's a strange moment where I feel like I'm floating. It's almost pleasant. But then the moment ends and I'm gone before I feel the concrete.

: :

I wake slowly, feeling disoriented. What happened? The last thing I remember is floating. My head hurts. Why does it hurt? Why does my hand hurt, too?

Then I realize I must have passed out. No. I nearly groan out loud. He saw my weakness. As if I hadn't shown him enough of that. No, I just had to go and pass out in front of him. Why couldn't I take it? I should be stronger than this. I used to be.

What made me weak?

The answer comes to me. It was Wanda and Pietro. I'm weak because of them. Because I allowed myself to care. Stupid, stupid me. That's the first thing you learn living on your own. Caring about people is weakness. It only ever brings pain. How could I do this to myself? I left my heart wide open, and now Ovechkin has gone and torn it apart. This never would have happened before them.

My self-inflicted punishment for my stupidity is cut short by Ovechkin entering my cell. How does he always know right when I wake up? It makes me feel vulnerable, like the first time I woke up. He must watch me all the time. I suppress a shiver.

"You took quite a hit yesterday." He says. When I don't reply, he continues. "The doctor told me you need to rest for a few weeks in order for it to heal fully."

Panic rises like bile in my throat. He can't. Please no. Don't let him agree.

There is a long moment of silence before he goes on. "But something tells me you don't like that idea." I can hear a faint trace of amusement in his voice. "So I propose a compromise. You rest for the next few days-" I take in a breath to argue. "No, I've made up my mind." He says. "I can't have you destroying yourself to save your friends. As much as I enjoy watching your pain, I do need you to be able to function."

I want to scoff at this display of near-sentiment, but then a particularly strong pulse of pain jolts through my hand, and I clench my jaw. There's silence for another moment.

"Enjoy the break." He says, leaving my cell. "It's the only one you'll ever get."

: :

I'm bored out of my mind for the next few days. Well, that and tormented. By nightmares. And memories. Even though I'm supposed to be resting and I get the entire day to lay around and do nothing, I can't sleep. And it's not just the nightmares. It's the thought that he's watching me. That I wouldn't know if he is. I feel violated, naked. It makes me sick. So despite all the rest I should be getting, I'm not sleeping much. But at least I don't have to try and focus enough to fight, though I know the reprieve won't last long.

And, sure enough, on the morning of the fourth day of being bored to tears, Ovechkin enters my cell, accompanied by the usual booted feet. A doctor comes up to me and checks my hand to make sure it's not infected. I want to yank it away. I hate being cared for by other people. But I let him poke and prod and do whatever he wants because I know it's what Ovechkin wants. And that is the only thing that matters anymore. As long as Ovechkin is happy, Wanda and Pietro stay safe.

After a few moments, the doctor proclaims it to be healing nicely and steps away from me. I curl my good hand protectively around the injured one. After a brief whispered conversation between Ovechkin and the doctor, Ovechkin says, "Tselitelov was just telling me that, though your hand has not healed fully, it is close enough for you to begin training again."

 _Good_ , I think. Even though training is hard, it's better than just laying around and thinking about everything that could go wrong, that has gone wrong. And this way I feel like I'm actually working towards helping Wanda and Pietro. Keeping them away from this.

So I follow Ovechkin obediently through the halls and into the room. I can tell it's the same one, somehow. The air, it feels…like fighting. Like victory. But it also smells like blood. And I can almost hear the gunshot echoing off the walls. My hand spasms involuntarily. But I shake it off, turn to face whoever Ovechkin's decided to put me up against this time.

"You'll be fighting Voin today." He says. Obviously he's decided I can't handle fighting more than one right now. That frustrates me. He's probably right, but I don't like it. I just nod and take up my stance, my uninjured hand open to deliver a shock to him. But I can't keep the electricity from pulsing through my left hand. At first I'm worried it will make it worse, but it actually numbs the pain a little.

Then a mental picture of the room starts forming. I can see its exact size, Ovechkin over there in the corner with two men, and Boetsoi lunging at me. It's not possible. It can't. But I don't have time to think over it much before I have to duck under Boetsoi's swinging fist. I roll out of the way, still somehow aware of his position. I sense him stumble, sense him turn on me. He comes at me, his elbow leveled at my stomach. I twist so my back is to him, crouch down a little, and when his body crashes into me, I grab his arm with my good hand and smash it into the wall. He grunts in pain and goes for me with his other fist, but I trap that against the wall with my left arm. He's struggling, but then my right hand is on his chest, and he slumps to the ground, lifeless.

And I _see_ it. All of it.

No, see's not the right word. It's very vague, shadowy almost. It's not like I used to see things. But it's _there_. Which is more than I had yesterday. How, though? Is my eyesight coming back? It doesn't seem like it, but then again, I've never gone blind and had my vision come back before. I must look confused, because Ovechkin says, "What is it?"

I shake my head. I'm not about to try and explain this to him, not until I understand what's going on. I can tell he's not convinced, but he lets it pass. "It looks like you can handle that. Let's try making it a little harder."

The body's dragged out of the room and I'm faced with two men. I beat them and we move on to three, and so on. You've seen enough of my fights to get the gist. It's what happens next that I want to tell you.

It's after a long day of killing those booted feet (are they _trying_ to make me look good or something?). I'm sitting back in my cell, covered in sweat and wondering if he is ever going to let me take a shower. Then, when I realize that he's not going to even offer, I turn my attention to my hands. There's something weird going on, and I bet it has to do with my powers. I send a blast of electricity out through the fingertips of my right hand. It's not strong enough to do any real damage, just scorch the wall. Then I try it with my left.

I knew, when my hand got shot, that I wouldn't be able to produce the same effect with my left hand as with my right anymore. But I never thought _this_ would happen.

My world shows up around me. It's still vague and shadowy, but I can tell where the walls are now. I can even tell which wall is the glass one. It _feels_ different, somehow. Which is strange, because I'm not touching it, I'm not even anywhere near it, but I can feel the difference in density. The concrete walls are solid, thick, completely unyielding. But the glass is… thin. Light. It's nearly impossible to explain in words, but it was _incredible._

Now, it wasn't like actually looking at it with my eyes. Nowhere close to that. Most of my environment was still in shadow; it wasn't like I could see every crack in the wall. But it was much better than I ever thought I'd get.

It was a small victory.

One that I told myself I could keep from Ovechkin.

Fat chance.

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 **A/N: So there it is, peeps! Please leave a review, they are amazing!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to a person d for reviewing! Sorry about this, but I had to fix something else that was originally in the chapter I took down but belongs here. Hopefully this'll be the last issue with this!**

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It's the next day. Ovechkin's taken me to another room, different from the one I usually train in. I discreetly rotate my left hand to get a look at it. It's pretty bare, except for a big box-like thing in the corner and a large chair. But other than that it's almost as tall as I am and twice as big around, I can't determine any details about it. I guess this whole "sixth sense" sight thing isn't as good as I thought.

Ovechkin and his customary two booted feet stand just behind me. He's silent for a moment, watching me take it in, then says, "What is that you're doing with your hand?"

Of course I wasn't discreet enough.

I just shake my head, unwilling to answer. I've stayed silent this long, and I'm not about to give him the pleasure of hearing me speak.

"All right, keep your secrets." He says with a little chuckle, as if he doesn't care, even though I know he does. "I'll find out eventually." But his tone makes me think he already knows, or at least guesses.

"I've decided that you've had enough training for now to complete your first mission."

 _Oh, please, no._

"Don't be afraid, it's not difficult."

I would want to laugh in his face if I didn't feel so sick. I know that I'm capable of it, whatever it is. I'm just not looking forward to killing anyone that isn't actively attacking me. And killing Ovechkin's booted feet didn't feel like killing. It's impersonal. We don't know each other. Ovechkin wants me to kill them, anyway.

"And I think you'll enjoy it."

With a disturbing lurch, I realize he's right. Killing doesn't feel _wrong_. It feels normal. I'm horrified. What would Wanda and Pietro think? And then I realize it doesn't matter. I won't ever see them again. That's almost a relief. I don't have to be who I was. Right now, I have to be who Ovechkin wants me to be. And that's a merciless killing machine.

So I nod.

I can hear the smile on his face in his next words. "I want you to kill a woman named Genevieve Stahler. She's a murderer, like me, so you shouldn't have a problem with ending her life."

 _Good, she's another murderer_. So in this case, I'll be making a positive contribution to society.

I nod, ready to go, but Ovechkin stops me. "First, we need to make you presentable." He takes my arm—I shudder at his touch—and guides me over to the big chair in the corner. "First we'll take care of a few…aesthetic issues. Your hair, for example." I feel some kind of liquid seeping onto my head, then hands rubbing it in. "Electric blue is much more fitting for a girl with lightning powers, don't you think?" _Again with the hair?_ I think. _Really, Ovechkin?_ It's still all about showing me who's in charge.

The next 30 minutes or so are spent with me just sitting there with some kind of plastic cap on my head, waiting for the dye to seep in. It's boring. I've had far too much time to think lately. Too much thinking never leads to good places. This time it leads me back to the first time I met Pietro. Beautiful hair. All gone. But it doesn't matter, I remind myself. I'll never see them again.

Finally, they take the shower cap off and rinse my hair. Ovechkin "hmms" in approval once they're done.

"It looks very dangerous." He says. I'm fairly certain he means _ridiculous_. This is the first time I'm glad that I'm blind. I don't want to see what they did to my hair. My beautiful hair. I shake myself from that memory. "Now we'll move on to something a bit more painful." _Oh, no._ "We'll be giving you lightning tattoos on your arms." _Are. You. Serious?_ I think. He is really going all out on me.

They shave my arms first. Completely. And I know it's stupid, but it makes me feel naked. It's not like I'm a wild animal or anything that needs its hair to stay warm, but I still feel exposed. It takes forever for them to do it, even with what must be four guys working on me at once, and I think, _I could do it faster than this._ After that's finally done, they clean my arms pretty intensely. I'm starting to think they're going to draw blood with all of their scrubbing when the first needle pokes me, right next to my neck. It doesn't really hurt that much, just like I burned myself, but I still take in a sharp breath. Then they start on the other side.

As they get further away from my neck, it hurts less and less. By the time they're to the bony part of my shoulder, it's just irritating, not painful. What is painful is how long it's taking. _At this rate, I'm going to be here all day._ I'm just zoning out when they get to my upper arm and the pain gets worse. It feels like it did next to my neck. I clench my jaw hard.

Then they get to my elbow. I gasp in pain. It's like they're stabbing me in the arm, which they are, but it's worse than anywhere else. My jaw is almost locked in place and I'm breathing hard by the time they've moved on to my forearm. To my relief, the pain becomes mere irritation again.

Finally, after what feels like hours, they're wiping it off, and I think they're done. I nearly get up out of the chair, but Ovechkin stops me. Chuckling a bit darkly, as if he enjoys seeing me in pain (which he probably does), he says, "You're not done yet, my little удар молнии. They still need to color it."

I fight the urge to groan. As they begin again, right next to my neck, I think about what Ovechkin called me. _Lightning strike._ I like that. Even though he gave it to me, even though I should hate it because it came from him, it carries _power._ It sounds impressive, even dangerous. Thinking about this even gets me through my elbow.

Then, after what I'm sure has been most of the day, they're finally done with me. They wrap my arms up in some kind of plastic and let me stand up. I'm horribly stiff from sitting in that chair for so long, and my arms feel like there are tiny fire ants crawling up and down them, but I am so glad to be finished. I hold my arms out from me gingerly, unsure what to do with them now. I can vaguely feel the pain tracing out lines that score down my arms. It must look really cool, but that doesn't do me any good, not even with my new sensing ability. A couple of Ovechkin's booted feet touch my back and nudge me into walking back into my cell. It feels strange to go back there after so long of being free of it. It's the longest I've ever been outside of it since I got here.

And now I'm trapped back inside. My happiness at being let out of that chair sinks as the door to my cell slides shut behind me. No matter what Ovechkin calls me or how he embellishes me, I'll always be his tool, his murderer. I'll always have to do his dirty work for him.

There's no escape from that.

: :

I wake suddenly, my arms still feeling horribly itchy, but not painfully so. A pair of booted feet enters the room and releases my arms from their plastic-wrapped prison. My skin feels wet and wrinkled now, and I shake them out a little. _Those tattoos had better look really cool,_ I think.

Then Ovechkin comes in. "You look _terrifying_ , my little удар молнии."

There it is again. Is he trying to trademark a name or something?

"We're almost done. Just one more thing." The booted feet guide me out of my cell into the same room as before, with the chair and the big box in the corner. This time they take me over to the box instead of the chair. With my left hand turned outwards, I sense Ovechkin step in front of me and open the box. _A wardrobe?_ I wonder. Then he pulls something long and thin out of it.

"We have a custom-made suit for you. He hands me the suit. It's smooth, but the fabric (if that's even what it's made out of) is traced by veins. That makes it feel _organic_ , somehow. There's also a glove, made of the same material, but it has holes in it.

"Put it on." Ovechkin says. So, like a good little assassin, I slip it on over my leggings and tank top. Ovechkin comes up behind me and zips the back up. I shrink away from his touch. Then I pull the glove on.

"The glove is to help focus your powers." He says, then takes my hand in his. My jaw clenches. _Will you stop touching me?_ I think. His fingers trace the hole in the center of my palm, which is surrounded by a ring of metal or plastic. "This one will allow you to use your powers like you have been, by just releasing electricity." Then his fingers touch the tip of my index finger. "This one has a tiny metal spike, so you can electrocute someone at close quarters without them seeing any lightning." He moves to my middle finger. "This one only emits light, so that you can blind an opponent or see in the dark." Then he chuckles. "On second thought, that one won't do you much good." I narrow my eyes, wishing I could give him a scathing glance. He touches my ring finger. "This one will do much the same as the one in your palm, but with a narrower beam, like a laser." Finally, he gets to my pinkie. "This one stores the elecritcity, so you don't have to produce lightning to use it. You tap the button on the pad of your finger to activate a particular attachment. Let me demonstrate." He taps the tip of my index finger and stuck my finger into one of his booted feet. I produce a short burst of electricity, and I hear the man grunt and fall against the wall. _I could get used to this,_ I think.

"Now, I think it's time for your first mission." Ovechkin says, stepping back from me.

 _Finally,_ is all I can think.

Though technically I'm leading the mission, he tells me everything to do over the headset, so I really have no control over what I'm doing. It's quick. In and out. I don't even flinch when her face melts under my hand. It's not like I can see it or anything.

Then I'm back at base, fixing whatever I did wrong that time.

Then I'm out again, killing a man named Ignacio Durante.

And so it goes.

Dare I say it, my life gets downright monotonous.

Until the Widow.

It's been at least six months now since Ovechkin stole me from Strucker. I really have no way of knowing for sure, but that's my best estimate. He brings me in to talk to him, just like it is before any other mission. But I can tell that this isn't just any mission. He's tenser than normal. And more serious. But he's still trying to pull of relaxed.

"Welcome to my office, my little удар молнии." He says, leaning back in his chair. "Do sit down." I remain standing. I know by now that he won't kill Pietro and Wanda for that. I can stay my own person in small acts of defiance. "I think you are ready for a target that is a bit more challenging."

 _Yes,_ I think, then realize that I'm happy about being sent to kill someone. _What's happening to me?_

"I want you to kill the assassin called Black Widow."

I've heard of her. There probably isn't a single Russian who hasn't. And in no way do I think that I'm ready to face her. My combat skills are woefully inadequate.

He stands. "I believe that your powers will more than make up for the gap in your hand-to-hand combat skills."

 _You believe?_ I feel panic rising in my chest. There is a very real possibility that she could kill me. Of course, none of these thoughts show on my face. Another thing I've learned over the past months is how to keep Ovechkin from reading my thoughts on my face.

"And right now, she's unprotected. S.H.I.E.L.D. has fallen, all of her secrets have been shared with the world, and she's alone, as far as we know. That will make your job considerably easier." Then he chuckles. He tries to sound confident, but I can hear the uncertainty running below. He's not sure I can do this, either.

 _Thanks for the confidence boost, Ovechkin,_ I think.

"Not that this will be easy." He continued. "But my little удар молнии can do it." His hand brushes my cheek, and I force myself not to react, even though my entire body is screaming at me to kill him here and now. But it's not time yet. If I can beat the Widow, I will know that I'm ready to stop Ovechkin. For now, I must bide my time.

We fly to a little town near the Canada-United States border where she's hiding. The entire way there, I alternate between wondering why Ovechkin wants me to kill her and feeling sick to my stomach at the prospect of dying. I know that in an even fight, she would beat me hands-down, lightning powers or no. But this won't be an even fight. I'm going to surprise her. And I'll have Ovechkin's booted feet as backup. Not that they'd be much use against her. But if I need a quick escape, they're my extraction team. I can only hope that I won't need that, because I would have to get hurt really badly for Ovechkin to be willing to pull me out.

When we arrive at her small, nondescript house, one of the booted feet, dressed in civilian clothes, walks up to her front door. He's the one with the best American accent, so he'll be my distraction. I move silently out back and scale the wall to get to the window farthest away from the door. Just in case, I check if it's locked. It is. So I take out the big metal bar hanging at my waist and smash through the window, dropping the bar to the ground below. I lunge through the window and roll as I hit the floor, trying to make my fall as quiet as possible. My boots crunch on broken glass as I get to my feet.

I move quietly towards the entrance, both hands out and ready. I sense my distraction grab her and kiss her to keep her from seeing me and raise my eyebrows. That had definitely not been part of the plan. And it would probably end very badly for him.

My prediction proves true. Within seconds, he's lying on her porch and groaning in pain. She slams the door, muttering angrily in Russian, and comes up the stairs cautiously. I hear a gun cock. I'm waiting right by the top of the stairs for her. I know that getting the gun away from her is my first priority. As long as she has it, my life isn't worth much.

The second the gun comes within reach, I lunge for it and pull it towards me, then step around her and roll down the stairs, tearing it out of her hands. I hear it clatter to the floor of the landing close to me. Unbalanced by my fall, she flips down the stairs after me and goes for the gun, but I kick it down the second flight of stairs and get to my feet, standing between her and it. But she's already on her feet and catches the side of my face with a roundhouse kick. My head explodes in pain and I hit the first flight of stairs hard. She goes to finish me off with another hit to the face, but I slide down the stairs towards her, grabbing her leg in my hands and rising. Her face hits the hardwood on the stairs, and I start pulsing a surge of electricity into her, but she flips over, throwing me to the floor.

My whole body aches, but I force myself to focus. I sense her stand and step towards me to finish me off, so I sweep my left leg out to bring her down. She jumps over it, but that moment of distraction gives me the time I need to get to my feet. I raise my fist, feint to the left, then go for her stomach with my right, but she's not fooled. She grabs my fist and places her other hand on my shoulder, then yanks my arm back. I hear a grinding sound as the joint dislocates, and pain bursts through my shoulder. I'm on the very edge of the second flight of stairs, completely at her mercy. Which is a very bad thing. So I jerk my head back and catch her in the chin, loosening her grip on my wrist enough to tear my arm out of her hand. But then I realize that her hold on me was the only thing keeping me from tumbling down those stairs. And the extra momentum from tearing my arm from her grip only speeds my descent up.

The next thing I know, I'm laying at the bottom, my whole body groaning in pain. I hear her coming towards me and force my battered limbs to move and get me out of the way. I'm halfway through a somersault when I hear a clatter of metal as she picks up the gun. Then I'm brought to a screeching halt by a searing burst of agony in my right thigh. Breathing hard and fast, I raise myself on my elbows. I have to get up before—cold steel touches the nape of my neck. I know I've lost.

"Get me out of here, Ovechkin." I hiss.

"Ovechkin? Is that who sent you?" She speaks in Russian, her voice low and smooth. Her tone is almost…amused.

I am silent.

"That's all right." She says after a moment. "I will find out what I want from you eventually." Now her voice is full of confidence.

"Why not just kill me?" My own voice is rough from pain.

"I like to know who's trying to assassinate me. It pays to keep your enemies straight." Then she nudges the barrel of the gun against my head, and I curse myself for flinching. "Get up."

I raise myself shakily to my knees, all my weight on my left leg. I raise my hands in surrender so that I can see what she's doing. She's moved back a little, but the gun is still trained on my head. If I move fast enough, I can smash her arm against the wall, hopefully getting her to drop it before she can shoot me. It's becoming rapidly apparent that it's up to me to get out of this. Ovechkin hasn't sent an extraction team in to get me. Typical.

So I jerk my elbow up, catching her arm and pinning it to the wall. A shot goes off and narrowly misses my head. Relief rushes through me as I hear the gun clatter to the ground. I'm not prepared when her shoe crashes into the back of my head and throws me to the carpet, unconscious.

: :

I blink myself awake, wincing at the pounding in my head. I'm lying on the floor with my right hand handcuffed to something. Something very heavy, I find as I jerk my wrist. My leg pulses with pain.

"Did Ovechkin send you?" It's the Widow.

I'm silent. Ovechkin has to know I'm in trouble. He'll get me out. That's what I tell myself, anyway.

"If you're worried that he'll kill you if you talk, don't be. He has no idea we're having this conversation. I removed your ear piece." _Of course she did. I'll just have to get out of this myself, then._ "Anyway, once you've told me what I want to know, I'll kill you anyway."

"It wasn't my choice to do this." I reply through gritted teeth.

"Then did Ovechkin send you?"

I figure there's no point in causing myself more pain by not telling her. Ovechkin will never know that I told her, and she just might get rid of him for me. If she doesn't kill me first. It's my job to convince her that's not in her best interests.

I nod.

"How'd you get mixed up with him?" Her voice turns amused again.

I hesitate. I don't really want to tell her. But maybe if I'm honest now, I can convince her later that I'll help her get rid of Ovechkin or something. So I tell her everything. Except the part where Pietro kissed me. She doesn't need to know that.

"How do I know you didn't just make that all up?"

"Why would I?" I ask. "I hate Ovechkin. I hope you kill him for me."

I can hear the smirk in her voice. "I like you. Unfortunately, I have no interest in trusting my life to you, so I'll just have to kill you."

I hear the gun cock. "Please. If you kill me, he'll go after Pietro and Wanda. I can't let that happen."

"You really care about them, don't you?" There's a slight tone of wonder to her voice.

I nod. _Maybe…_

But it's not enough.

"Then maybe you shouldn't." Her voice is harder than marble.

I sense her raise the gun, aim it at my head. It's point-blank range. I'm going to die.

 _I'll never see Pietro and Wanda again._ But I resigned myself to that fact a long time ago. I'm ready to die.

* * *

 **A/N: So there's the edited chapter! Sorry I've been having so many issues with this...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you to nightmarehunter676 for reviewing my last chapter! :) All right, so this goes back to just Sera, though there is another canon person, if you remember her from that one episode in AoS. So here goes! :D**

* * *

And then, for all I can tell, there's an explosion. There's the sound of breaking glass shattering on the ground. A gunshot goes off, and then many more. I fall to the floor, wondering if I'm dead or alive but not really caring. Gloved hands grab me under the arms and drag me off, through the broken glass and out the window. There's another shot, a grunt, and one of them falters and falls. I'm grabbed by another. I hardly know whether to struggle or not, so I just lay limp, gritting my teeth at the pain in my leg. As I feel myself thrown into a heap on the carpeted floor of what I can only assume is some kind of vehicle, there's a jolt of agony through it, and I sink into the darkness that is more mental than anything else.

: :

"You cost me eight men yesterday." Ovechkin's voice draws me from sleep. I can tell he's furious with me. His words come out sounding strained.

And that means I'm in for it.

"Eight of my men that I don't have the resources to spend died getting you out of there." He continues. Then his face is very near mine. I can feel his warm breath on my face. "Because you failed." He turns away from me again. "You failed to defeat the Black Widow." There is a special hatred in his voice as he spits out her name. Then he seems to compose himself, however slightly. "If you fail me again, your friends will die." And he's gone. Just like that.

Another part of what's left of me drifts to the floor. I can't even be human anymore. Not that I was. But now he won't even allow me room to make mistakes. A chill strikes my heart as I realize I'm not sure I can be as perfect as he wants me to be. What if my failings kill Wanda and Pietro?

With a scowl at my own weakness and uncertainty, I crush that thought. It won't happen. It can't.

: :

I lace my trembling fingers together tightly as the jet takes off. No matter how hard I try, I can't stop replaying my battle with the Widow over and over again. Her voice, warm and amused turned cold and pitiless, weaves through my thoughts. She won't leave me alone. She taunts me, telling me I can't do this, that I'll fail and then Wanda and Pietro will die.

 _Love is weakness,_ she says. _Never forget that._

Tears start in my eyes, and I close them tight. I can't let the men see me this shaken. _That_ would be a sure sign of weakness. So I clench my jaw and force a fierceness into my expression that I don't feel. They can't know how terrified I am.

 _I_ can't know how terrified I am.

When the jet finally bumps to a landing, I feel a wave of nausea, but I don't let it show. I march past the booted feet who are under my command proudly, my back straight and my head high. They follow almost silently, which is a little disorienting for me since I can't see them, but I know they won't leave me. Ovechkin needs them to stay by my side and complete the mission if I fail.

 _But they won't need to,_ I tell myself. _I can do this._

I'm so busy saying this in my head over and over again that I completely miss our first obstacle and almost get my head taken off by a bullet at point-blank range. One of my booted feet shoves me out of the way and takes the guy out, but as I rise to my feet, I'm shaking much harder than I was before. I can still hear the echo of the gunshot in the air, and all I can think about is how close I came to dying. Just like with the Widow. It doesn't bode well for the rest of the mission.

But I know that giving up would be even worse than not trying, so I regain my erect posture and continue much more carefully towards the compound we were assigned to infiltrate. There will be more men to deal with, I know. I have to get it together. And hopefully focusing on the task at hand will get the Widow's voice out of my head.

"You can do this." A voice whispers at my ear. I jump, a surge of electricity jolting through me at the unexpected sound. I almost take him out, but then I realize that he's one of my booted feet. _What is he doing?_ They've never so much as spoken to me unless Ovechkin ordered it, much less said something like _that._

I shake the surprise off and move forward, wondering if I'm going crazy. _There's no way…_

I'm ready for the next man to come at me, dispatching him with ease. _I can do this._ We burst through the doors, my hand raised, electricity surging. But there's no one. _It shouldn't be this easy…_ At this point, I know it's a trap. There's no other explanation for the lack of resistance. But still, I can't go back. So I go forward, hoping this won't be the death of me.

Then feet thud down all around us and guns cock. _We're going to die._ _Pietro and Wanda are going to die._ But they don't open fire. A woman's voice echoes down the hallway to us. She speaks in accented but intelligible Russian, and her voice is smooth. I dimly sense her standing on the other side of the wall of men that surrounds us.

"Welcome, удар молнии." _How can she know?_ "It has been many years since Ovechkin has tried to kill me." Her voice is darkly amused, and I know this is my target. Baroness Krizia Caito. The only female leader of HYDRA. "Come with me." She says, turning and striding away from us, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. I hesitantly move forward, and the wall of men opens up to let me through. I follow her at a distance, just close enough to not lose her. She leads me into a small room. I sense a small table in the center and a couple of chairs, but can't tell much else about the room.

"Sit." She says, and I do, mildly surprised at how cushioned the chair is. It has been a long, long time since I've sat on anything _this_ nice. I sit up straight, folding my still-shaking hands together in my lap. I wonder what she wants with me. Since my left hand is resting in my lap, I'm taken completely by surprise when she grabs my hair with her hand and wrenches it to the side. Her other hand scratches at my ear and digs my earpiece out. I hear it clatter to the floor, and then a heavy door slams.

"There." She says, her voice sounding much more relaxed, though not friendly by any stretch. "Now we can have a real conversation." She sits in the chair opposite me. "Ovechkin asked me to test you. He said he would send you on a mission to kill me and I was supposed to trap you. He wanted to see how you would handle that. I agreed, but only in order to question you where he is not present." She pauses. "I believe Kazimir Ovechkin is a traitor to HYDRA." She lets that hang in the air for a moment. "You are here to help me determine his true loyalties."

I had not expected that. And I wasn't sure if this was part of the test. What if he had told her to do this, too? What if I betrayed him and he killed Wanda or Pietro because I had failed? So I just sit there, waiting for her to say something else.

"I can see you're still not certain about what to tell me." She says after a minute or two. "So I will sweeten the deal." Immediately, alarm bells went off in my head. That was exactly what Ovechkin had said to me that night so many months ago. "If Ovechkin is a traitor, I will have plenty of reason to remove him from the ranks of HYDRA, imprison him, and eventually execute him. I imagine that you hate the man, after what he's forced you to do." My jaw clenches. That is more true than she can know.

"What…" I want to ask her what will become of Wanda and Pietro should I accept, but I stop myself. I can't reveal my weakness this early in the game. So I ask another question instead. "What happens to me?"

"You would go free."

That rings more false than any lie I've ever been told. A sneer curls my lips. "I doubt that." I reply. "I hate HYDRA almost as much as Ovechkin. Letting me go would only be a danger to you." Then I curse myself. With that attitude, I'll just get myself killed instead!

I can hear a small smile in her next words. "I didn't think you would believe that. You seem cleverer than most of my soldiers." She pauses before continuing. "You would be much more valuable to us on our side."

"No." I say flatly. It's nice to be a defiant as I choose. She doesn't know my weakness like Ovechkin does. She might kill every single one of my booted feet, she might torture me, she might even kill me, but none of that matters if Pietro and Wanda are safe. And I suspect that she won't harm me. She'd have to return me to Ovechkin relatively unhurt if she doesn't want him to know she's on to him.

"Oh, we have our ways of persuading even the most resilient of people." She replies. "You would soon see reason. Especially if we used your dear friends to get to you."

That stops me cold. _No._

"Oh yes, Ovechkin told me everything. In fact, I have suspicions that he was the one who ensured the survival of the Maximoff twins so that he could blackmail you. Why would they survive while everyone else died?" She pauses again to let that sink in. "And you, Miss Korzhakov. We have you on record as dead."

 _Ovechkin is a fool,_ I think bitterly. _How could she not suspect anything after everything he's told her?_

"There is little doubt in my mind that Ovechkin is a traitor." She continued. "However, the heads of HYDRA want proof, which I will get from you."

I know I can't refuse. She's threatened Wanda and Pietro. The only way to protect them is to betray Ovechkin. I hate myself for giving in to her so easily. I hate myself for caring about them. They've weakened me to the point that I have no control over my own choices anymore.

So, the anger in my voice barely contained, I say, "Ovechkin is a traitor to HYDRA."

She rises. "Thank you for being so cooperative."

I hear her giving orders to her men, telling them to let us go. But all I can do is sit there numbly. I have no particular desire to protect Ovechkin—in fact, I'd rather see him dead—but my stubborn streak hates that I gave in so easily to her. I hate not being able to protect myself and my friends. The only way I can keep them alive is to blacken my soul with murdering and lying.

 _I hope you appreciate all I go through for you,_ I think as I rise to my feet and follow my booted feet out of the compound.

* * *

 **A/N: So the Baroness is one of the heads of HYDRA. She's in "Aftershocks," during the conversation they have over who will replace Whitehall and she dies later in the episode. This is before that, which is why she's not dead and why I didn't kill her. Anyway, I love reviews, so please leave one (or two)! The next two chapters are the ones I took down, so I'll just have to make some minor adjustments and then they'll be up!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you to nightmarehunter676 and whoever the guest was for reviewing! So the changes I needed to make to this chapter have amounted to about half of it (sorry), but the last part is still the same! This one's also a little short (sorry again), and I'm not entirely happy with it, but I just wanted to get it posted. So anyway, here it is! Enjoy! :)**

* * *

I take my seat next to my booted feet in the jet and we take off, heading back to Ovechkin. I'm trembling again.

 _You failed,_ is all I can think. _If that had been a real mission, all of your men would be dead and you would have been captured._

I don't so much care about the men—I've killed plenty myself before—but the failure itself is what gets to me. And the fact that the Baroness beat me. By threatening my friends. Just like Ovechkin. _When will this end?_

Then I feel a hand around mine. It's gloved. I snatch my hand away, wondering what he thinks he's doing, and scoot away from the booted feet next to me. I hear a slightly confused chuckle, and I realize it's the same one from earlier. Who told me I could do it.

 _Well, you were wrong._ And I scoot a little further from him.

: :

"What did you tell her?" Ovechkin's voice is tight again with anger, but there's fear laced with it. He is scared to death that, because of my failure, HYDRA will come after him.

 _Perhaps you shouldn't have sent me, then,_ I think. _Idiot._

But all I say out loud is, "Nothing."

"That's a lie." He hits me across the face, hard. I'm shocked. He has never hit me before. I realize just how frightened he is. The trembling starts up again, all through my body, and I can feel the electricity tickling my stomach. But still, I say nothing. "Remember that if you defy me, I can kill your friends." He growls. His voice doesn't carry the power it usually does, but I know he's right. So once again, I surrender to my weakness and tell him what he wants to know.

"I told her you've betrayed HYDRA." I reply quietly.

He curses, grabs my arm, and throws me against the wall. "Your failure has cost me everything." He hisses into my face, then strides out, muttering something to his booted feet I can't hear. They come over to me, haul me to my feet, and half-drag me outside the building. The cold wind bites my face and my bare arms. They throw me to the ground next to the wall. There's some structure made of metal…

A chill runs through me as the shackle closes around my neck and the cage door slams shut. The booted feet walk away. _No, don't leave me here! Come back!_ I grip the bars, hearing the chain linking me to the wall clink behind me. But they're gone. And I'm alone with the whistling wind and my aching body.

: :

I lay there for days, my only way of keeping time being the sun on my face and the temperature of the air. _He's trying to kill me. He's starving me._ My thoughts are dull and distant. It doesn't seem to matter.

Then I hear a friendly voice.

"Here." It whispers. _That's the pair of booted feet that—_

He shoves a hunk of bread into my hand.

"You're welcome."

Then he's gone.

 _What is he doing?_

But soon my thoughts have disappeared into delirium. My teeth chatter and I'm coughing almost nonstop. Not to mention my pounding headache. Somewhere in the middle of this, the booted feet come, unchain me, and take me back inside. It's stiflingly warm in there, and I struggle to escape the booted feet. _Let me go back._ But they hold me tightly, and I'm too weak to fight much.

I'm dimly aware of a doctor hovering over me, but for the most part, Ovechkin leaves me alone. Slowly, my body mends itself and my swirling thoughts come to rest. I've returned to myself. As I lay there, for the first time covered in a blanket and supported by a pillow, I think about that pair of booted feet. No, he's become more than that to me, I realize. There's a voice attached to the feet. And though I know there will never be a face to go with the voice and the boots, it's enough for now. Somehow, in the midst of this horrible experience, I've found a friend.

 _It's just Ovechkin trying to get to you,_ I think. _He knows your weakness and he's exploiting it. Your soft heart has already caused so much trouble for you. Don't let it cause you more. The soldier is just pretending. It's all an act._

But I can't be sure. And that bothers me most of all.

: :

When I'm fully recovered, Ovechkin visits me. His fury has cooled into hatred. Which is fine by me. Now we're probably even in terms of mutual hatred.

"Since you've managed to completely fail the last two missions I've sent you on," he begins, and my jaw clenches. "I'm going to give you a fairly easy task to complete that you have a great deal of motivation to complete." He pauses, for dramatic effect, I suppose, and I raise my eyebrow. _Really, Ovechkin? Out with it._ "I want you to kill Baron von Strucker."

Now my eyebrows shoot up. _That's supposed to be easy?_

"He is currently in the custody of NATO." He continues. "The Avengers captured his base a few days ago."

My heart goes cold. _Wanda? Pietro?_ I can't imagine the Avengers would let them get away easily.

Ovechkin chuckles. "Don't worry, your friends are safe. I'm keeping tabs on them. They have allied themselves with a robot named Ultron and are currently trying to destroy Tony Stark."

 _What are you getting yourselves into?_ I can respect their desire for revenge on him, but I don't want them to get hurt because of it. And going up against Tony Stark—and presumably the rest of the Avengers—they might very well end up hurt or dead or imprisoned.

"Anyway," Ovechkin says. "My men will get you inside. All you have to do is kill him. It shouldn't be too difficult, since he's completely unarmed."

: :

True to his word, Ovechkin has his booted feet infiltrate the facility before I even step inside of it. The moment they've prepared the way for me, I hear "All clear" through the comms in my ear. One of the booted feet who stayed behind with me leads me forward, into what must be a rather intimidating building. I wonder why I'm even here, if his soldiers could kill Von Strucker just as easily as I could. But I know the answer. It's all about testing me. Hardening me. Making me into the perfect successor for Ovechkin's sickening work. _Will I ever be like Ovechkin?_ I think. _Will killing become so natural that I don't see the horror in it?_ Then I realize that I'm already there. Killing doesn't make me sick anymore. And I wonder what the difference between Ovechkin and me is. _Is there even one?_

My thoughts are cut short as I hear, "He's in there." I can't tell whether it's spoken by the man right next to me or through the earpiece, but I don't care. I can revenge myself on Von Strucker. He's so close. I send out a little pulse of electricity with my left hand, sensing a doorway in front of me, flanked by booted feet. Von Strucker must know we're here by now. But again, I don't care. I'm about to make this man pay for destroying our lives. It's almost as good as killing Ovechkin himself. And, since I can't kill Ovechkin without his soldiers killing Wanda and Pietro, it's the best I'm going to get for now. So I head forward, through the doorway. As I move inside, the room comes into focus. Not that my sense is really focused at all, but it's as focused as it will probably ever get.

I sense him on the other side of the room, slouched on a cot. The electricity jumps to my fingers as I move towards him.

"Who are you?" he asks, as though I've just come for a social visit. I ignore the question. After everything he put me through, I don't have to answer to him anymore. He leans forward, and I can almost feel his eyes on me, keen and fierce. I remember his face as I once saw it, when I thought he could change my life. And then I remember how much I hate him. He deserves what I'm about to do.

I'm startled when he speaks again. "Aren't you dead?"

 _He recognizes me_ , I think. I didn't expect him to. Not that it really matters. He's dead.

"So, you survived the experiments. Did Ovechkin spirit you away or something?"

His voice is beginning to irritate me. I hate the sound of it now.

"And now he's sent you to kill me." He says with a soft chuckle. "Really, I thought you were stronger than that. Bending to Ovechkin's commands."

 _I am!_ I want to scream. I haven't bent, I tell myself. I'm still stronger than Ovechkin. And I'll prove it someday. I'll kill him and stop all of the pain he's caused. I say this over and over again to block out von Strucker's poisoning words.

Furious now, I thrust my forearm into his throat, cutting off his words very effectively. His hot breath, coming in sporadic gasps now, blows in my face. It's disgusting. He's disgusting. I hear him whimpering as I raise my right hand, bristling with lightning.

He struggles.

I push him harder against the wall.

He tries to call for help.

I thrust my right hand into his chest.

He goes limp.

I step back.

He will never mock me again.

My moment of bitter triumph is broken by my name, spoken by two voices I know very well.

"Sera?"

My lips part, a little gasp flying between them.

 _Impossible._

I turn, sensing two people, a boy and a girl, standing in the doorway.

"Sera!" The girl runs forward and throws her arms around me. The boy hangs back a little.

 _No, please, no._

"Wanda?" A hoarse whisper is all I can manage. "Pietro?"

 _Ovechkin._

* * *

 **A/N: So there it is! Hope you liked it and please leave a review! They are my most favorite things and they make my day! (Also, if you favorite or follow or leave a review on any of my stories, I will be sure to take a look at anything you've written) Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up soon!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm back! So the first part of the chapter is the same as before, but the last part is completely new. So enjoy!**

* * *

Wanda leans back from me a bit. "What happened to you?" I can't make my lips tell her what I've done for them. I can't face that. I thought I'd never have to. So I just stand there.

"You were dead." Pietro says, stepping towards me. "Von Strucker said that the experiment killed you." I can hear a tremor in his voice.

"You know what you have to do." Ovechkin says in my ear.

"Sera?" I can almost see their faces in my head. They're looking at me, eyes full of confusion and pain. They want to know why I don't hold them back, why I don't tell them what I've been doing. I'm afraid that if I do, Ovechkin will kill them, or worse, one of them. I can't let that happen.

I know what I have to do.

I force a trembling smile over lips that want to scream. I put my arms around them, pulling them close. They hold me back. I want this last moment before I lose them. Tears spill onto my cheeks as I place my right hand on both of them, right where their shoulders touch. It's shaking.

"Sera, what's-" I don't let him make it any further.

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

I shock them with enough electricity just to knock them out. Their dead weight falls against me, and I stumble, my entire body shaking with sobs now.

"I'm so sorry." It's a broken cry as I lay them on the ground. "I had to." I kneel beside them, hunched over with the pain that tears at my heart. I don't have the strength to resist when Ovechkin's booted feet pull me away and half-carry me out.

I've betrayed the only people who ever really cared about me.

The journey back is long, too long. I think about what I did so much that my mind goes numb.

Except for anger.

Because I know that Ovechkin did this on purpose.

The booted feet deposit me in the center of a room back in the compound. I don't care enough to figure out which. I pound my fist into the floor, again and again, driving the tears away with my fury. But it's not enough. So I get up, pacing around the small space like a wild animal. I can feel the electricity crackling through my body. It wants to be let out. So with a furious scream, I blast it out. The energy feels alive, makes me feel alive. But it's gone after a split second. And it's still not enough. I fall to my knees, hating the tears that have betrayed me. I scream again, hoping it will tell Ovechkin how much I loathe him. But it's not enough. So I give myself over to the tears, to the great, wrenching sobs that wrack my body. I cry all the tears that I've forced myself to hold in since I started training.

And even though it doesn't rid me of the anger, of the pain, of the bitterness, it makes me tired enough to sink into sleep. At first, I'm grateful for it, for the escape. And then I realize that it's not really an escape at all.

Because the dreams wait for me.

I come into the room and see Von Strucker, chained to the wall. He is all mine. I move towards him, raising my right hand to deliver the killing blow. I hear Ovechkin's voice, egging me on, reminding me of all this man has done to me. I summon the lightning. I'm ready.

Then I hear other voices. "Sera, what's going on? What are you doing?"

"Doing what has to be done." Then it's done.

Ovechkin congratulates me. "Well done."

I turn to him with a bitter smile. "It's your turn now." He barely has time to cry out in fear before I end him.

I expect to see happiness and relief on Wanda and Pietro's faces. I just saved their lives. And now we can leave, run away, live in peace. But when I turn to face them, they look horrified. And sickened.

"What's wrong?" Horrible confusion grows inside me.

"You killed them." Wanda whispers.

"I had to." I reply.

"You're a murderer." Pietro says.

"No, I'm not." Then I hear Ovechkin's voice, egging me on.

 _They're right about you, just like I was. Now they've seen too much. You have to kill them. They will never forgive you for what you've done._

"No!" But I feel a cruel smile slipping over my lips, my right hand lifting up, the electricity coursing through my veins. _No, this isn't who I am._ But my voice is silent. I am powerless to stop this.

I kill Pietro first.

Wanda screams, falls to her knees beside her brother. _Let her grieve. It will be her turn soon enough,_ Ovechkin says.

 _No, please no, don't make me do this._ But my voice, my real voice, is fading. It has no power to change what is happening.

I put my hand on Wanda's cheek, as though to comfort her.

 _No._

 _Do it._

I pour the electricity into her.

She slumps on top of her brother.

Her face is burned, disfigured.

Her accusing eyes will never torment my soul again.

 _You know that was right._

 _They would have never forgiven you._

I'm already screaming when I wake up. It's an awful, inhuman noise that I think can't possibly be coming from me, but I can't make it stop. I keep telling myself it wasn't real, that it was just a nightmare, but…what if Pietro and Wanda react like that when they find out? _There is no when,_ I remind myself.

The horror of the nightmare still clings to me, though.

Then I hear a pair of booted feet entering my cell. But they're not booted. They sound like…socks. And then I feel arms around me, a warm chest at my back. And I panic. My right hand shoots out, jolting him with a surge of electricity that's already leaping through my body. He falls back with a grunt, and I whirl to face him, hand still raised, though it's shaking beyond my control.

The last thing I expect him to do is speak. "Man, I heard you pack a punch, but I didn't think it'd hurt this bad." His voice is nearly a groan, but I know it.

"You." My hand slowly drops. "Why are you doing this?" I hate how much my voice trembles.

"Of course you would start with the hardest question." He replies. After a moment, he continues, his voice much more serious. "I guess because you don't have anyone."

"None of the other booted feet seem to care."

He chuckles. "Is that what you call us?"

I blush, realizing how stupid it must sound to him, but nod hesitantly.

Then his voice is serious again. "That makes sense." He says. "You've never seen any of our faces, have you?"

I shake my head.

He moves closer, and I stiffen, raising my hand again to warn him off. But he takes it in his instead. "I'm not going to hurt you."

And for some reason, I believe him.

Then he takes my other hand—my seeing hand—and places both on his face. "Here," he says. "Now you can feel what I look like."

That is not what I expect. My first instinct is to tear my hands away from his. I can't get attached to him. But I want to know. I want to see his face. Maybe something in it will tell me why he's _different_ from the others. So I allow my fingers to explore his face. It doesn't tell me much about what he actually looks like, but I can feel stubble on his cheeks. He seems to have a long-ish face and a prominent brow. After a few moments, I take my hands away, blushing again, sure he must feel terribly awkward.

"What's your name?" he asks. "Your real name, I mean."

"Serafima." I reply. I hesitate for a few moments before asking his. "What is yours?"

"Milo."

"You're not Russian?"

"No." he says. "Well, my parents weren't. But I was raised in Sokovia."

I nod. Then another question occurs to me. "You seem like a very nice person."

He chuckles again. "Glad to know you see me that way."

I bite my lip, choosing to ignore him. "How did you…join HYDRA?"

"My parents were part of HYDRA. They were from Germany, but they got transferred to Sokovia. I just came along."

"And you were assigned to Ovechkin?"

"Not exactly." He sounds uncomfortable.

"What does that mean?"

"I can't tell you." He says.

I can understand that, so I let it go.

"So what about you?" he asks. "How did you end up with HYDRA?"

"I volunteered for Von Strucker's experiments." I reply, not really wanting to go any further than that.

"What was it like?"

I sigh. I kind of want to tell him to mind his own business, but I also want to tell him everything. He's the first person to want to know without having some kind of agenda. _Unless…_

But I cut myself off. "We spent the first few weeks in trial periods. Testing our mental and physical strength and all. To see if any of us even had a chance of making it through the actual experiments. Then, a few at a time, he tried the scepter on us. My group was the last. And the only one to have any survivors."

"Ovechkin's doing?"

I nod.

"Why would he keep any other Enhanced alive?" he asks.

Suspicion flares in my mind. _He's using me. He just wants to know my weakness. So he can control me._

"Why should you care?" I pull back from him.

"Whoa, calm down." He replies. "I'm just curious, is all."

"Sure." I say bitterly and turn my back on him.

"Hey," he says, grabbing my shoulder. "What's this about?"

I shrug his hand off, fighting the urge to electrocute him again.

"Sera?" he sounds legitimately confused.

I try to stop them, but the words start spilling out of my mouth. They're hard, angry, hurt. "You're just looking for a way to get to me." I say. "To control me. That's all anyone wants anymore. Why should you be any different? You're just like all the others." I feel the tears building up in my throat and my chin trembling. _I thought you cared._

"What? Why would I want to control you?"

"Because I'm more powerful than you, and you know it, and that frightens you. You're also less powerful than the man who does control me." For a moment, the words choke in my throat. They sound far too much like Von Strucker's. "Which means you need me to become more powerful than him. And to take revenge on anyone you might dislike."

"Sera, you're not making any sense."

"Stop calling me by my name." I hiss. "You don't deserve to."

He backs away from me a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"That I would know what you were doing?" I can barely speak for the tears that close my throat.

"I was just trying to be friendly!"

"I don't believe you." _How can I?_ "Why would anyone try to be friendly to me unless they wanted something from me?"

He groans with frustration and doesn't speak for a while. When he does, his words are quiet. "Look, I'm sorry Ovechkin has ruined you. I'm sorry you got mixed up in all of this. I'm sorry you can't trust me. But I swear, _I am being honest._ I am trying to help you."

The word escapes me before I can stop it. "Really?" I hate how weak I sound, how desperate.

"Really." He says, and I feel his hand take mine. My lightning hand. The one that can kill him. I know if he were lying, he wouldn't put his life into my hands—no pun intended—like that. So I slump, my anger spent. He puts his other arm around me, pulling me back into his chest.

 _Oh, no no no._ _No. NO._ I can feel the lump in my throat swelling, my heart falling to pieces. I can feel my walls crumbling. It's terrifying. I'm vulnerable. I'm weak. I tell myself to get away from him before he hurts me or someone uses him to hurt me. But it's too late. The tears erupt in a hiccupping sob, and he holds me so tight I don't think I could run away if I wanted to.

So instead, I relax, my body shaking with sobs. My tears soak his shirt, and I know he probably thinks I'm an idiot, but I can't stop. They just keep coming. And, at the very least, he doesn't laugh or tease me or drop me. He just sits there, holding me.

When my tears are spent, I'm exhausted. The sleep I've been missing has finally caught up with me. So even though the rational side of my brain is screaming at me to stand up, to send him on his way, to forget this ever happened, I'm too tired to care. I drift off to sleep in his arms.

I dream again. Pietro's arms are around me, his lips on my forehead. It feels comforting, safe, and _right._

"I swear on my life, I will get you out of here." It's just a whisper, but I hear it clearly.

And I believe him.

* * *

 **A/N: There is chapter 9! I've officially passed the mark of my other full-length! :D Anyway, please leave a review and let me know what you think of Milo!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This one's a bit shorter than usual. It was kinda rough to write, especially the memory scene. I'm fairly happy with it, though. Also, I've officially passed the number of chapters I had for Saved by the 'Other Guy'! So that's fun. If all goes well, I'll have like 7-8 more chapters, so that's exciting. :) Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

"Get up. Ovechkin wants to see you."

My eyes blearily squint open. Milo's gone. That's ok, though. If he were still here, he'd probably be in serious trouble. He might be anyway. I get to my feet, stretching and yawning. It's been ages since I've slept that well, even if it was only for part of the night.

I follow the soldier—I briefly wonder what his name is—down several halls to where Ovechkin waits. It's a route I'm now familiar with, but apparently Ovechkin thinks I still need help getting to his office.

When I enter the room, though, there's already someone else in there. _Shoot,_ I think. _Milo got caught. I hope he can figure out a way out of this._

"Do come in, my little удар молнии." My teeth clench at the pet name. "I found your soldier friend." Then, to Milo, "Please continue with your fascinating narrative."

"I woke up in the middle of the night hearing the Сапфир Удар screaming."

 _Sapphire Strike? Is that what they call_ me?

"I thought you wouldn't like to be disturbed by her, so I went to her cell to calm her down."

"What about the men who were on duty last night? As I recall, you were not one of them."

"I don't know where they were." Milo replies. "The screaming went on for nearly two minutes without anyone doing anything about it to my knowledge."

 _Two minutes?_

"So I got up and went to her cell to see what I could do."

"You seemed to take a rather unorthodox path to calming her down."

I can hear Milo shrug. "That's how my mom always calmed me down after a nightmare."

I fight the urge to bristle. _I don't need you to be my mother!_

Ovechkin turns to me. "Can you verify his story?"

I wish I didn't have to speak to him, but if Milo's going to survive this, I need to use my words. "All I know is that I woke up in the middle of the night screaming, and this soldier was there." I gesture at Milo. "There were no other attempts to enter my cell by the soldiers who were on duty."

"Very well, then." Ovechkin says. "You are free to go, солдат." Milo salutes and walks past me out of the room. He doesn't even acknowledge me. I turn to go, too, but Ovechkin stops me.

"He has quite the little crush on you, you know." He says. "Don't let it distract you too much." His voice is amused, but I can hear the underlying threat. The _or else._ And I promptly disregard it. The fact that _someone_ cares about me other than Wanda and Pietro is enough to make me reckless. So without even giving a nod to show Ovechkin I heard him, I stride out of his office, my head held high.

: :

That night, Milo visits me again. "Thanks for not ratting me out." He says.

"No problem." I reply with a small smile. It feels strange on my face, but good.

"So I've been thinking about how we're going to get you out of here."

That's the last thing I expect him to say. "What?"

"I'm helping you escape." He says, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"But…why?"

"Because no one deserves this."

 _Don't I?_

Taking my silence for agreement, he continues, "So anyway – hey, can I call you Fi-Fi?"

"What?" This man has a serious way of catching me off guard.

"Can I call you Fi-Fi?"

"I guess…" I say hesitantly. "Why?"

"Well, we should have code names." I'm not sure, but it sounds like he's joking. "And I just thought, you know, Sera **fi** ma. Fi-Fi."

"That makes sense…I guess…"

"You can come up with a code name for me, too, if you want."

"Yeah, sure." But I don't really mind. It's not like with Ovechkin. He never asked if I wanted to be his little удар молнии. Milo asked. And "Fi-Fi," as ridiculous as it is, is…endearing, in a way. It's like he's saying he actually cares about me, not just what I can do.

"Okay, now that we've got that out of the way, let's focus on the escape plan." He continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. "So I was thinking, what if I drugged all the guys in my dorm, then came and got you out of here, and we could fight our way out together."

I'm already shaking my head. "I can't."

"You can't? What are you talking about?"

"That puts Wanda and Pietro in danger."

"Wanda and Pietro…the Maximoff twins? The other Enhanced?"

I nod.

"Why would that put them in danger?"

I keep my voice as emotionless as possible. "Ovechkin has men with them. If I take a step out of line, he'll kill them."

"I see why that won't work…" he says. "Okay, I'll take that into consideration and come back with another idea tomorrow. If Ovechkin sees us talking a lot, he'll get suspicious."

I nod, knowing he's right, knowing Ovechkin is probably already suspicious. The sooner we can get this figured out, the safer the both of us will be.

I spend the next day undisturbed, drowning in memories.

 _My shoulder explodes with pain, and I fall back onto the asphalt. I can barely breathe. It hurts. So much. The world looks like it's spinning, the other rioters blending together in a haze of color. Blood—my blood—seeps out of my shoulder and onto the ground. Darkness bleeds into the edges of my vision. I start panicking._ Is this what it feels like to die? I don't want to die. Not yet.

 _Then there are faces in front of me. A boy and a girl—I think I know them. They're rioters. Aren't they? I can't remember. Then there's another face. An older man. I feel his hands on me, and weakly, I try to fight him off._ Don't touch me! _I want to shout, but the only sound that comes out is a whimper. He presses down on my shoulder, and I lurch forward with the pain, a strangled scream bursting through my lips. I feel more hands—the boy and girl?—holding me down. I want to get up, run away, but I can't. I can't move. All I can feel is the pain._

 _But then that fades, too._

 _"Thank you…" I wait for them to fill in their names._

 _"Pietro." He says, then, gesturing at the girl. "This is my sister, Wanda."_

 _"Thank you, Pietro and Wanda." I know I should go, but…my body feels drained. And my shoulder hurts. So I just sit there. They'll make me leave when they want me to._

 _"What is your name?" she asks._

 _"Serafima." I reply, closing my eyes and leaning my head back onto the wall._

 _"Well, since I just saved your life, I'd say I get permission to call you Sera." He says._

 _I open my eyes and look at him, surprised. I definitely had not expected that. Then I shrug, pretending like I don't care. Mistake. Big mistake. Ow. Getting shot hurts._

 _Squeezing their hands and looking into their eyes, I whisper through the emotion that closes my throat, "Don't leave me tomorrow. Promise you'll both make it."_

 _They both nod, embracing me. "Only if you'll promise the same." Wanda says into my ear. I can only nod, speaking beyond me._

 _Pietro catches my hand. I turn back, wondering if he has something else to say, and he surprises me with a kiss. It's just a light peck, but it makes me blush to the roots of my red hair._

 _He grins at the surprised expression on my face. "You didn't see that coming?" he asks playfully._

 _"Sera?"_

 _Impossible._

 _"You were dead." Pietro says, stepping towards me. "Von Strucker said that the experiment killed you." I can hear a tremor in his voice._

 _I know what I have to do._

 _I'm sorry._

 _I'm so sorry._

The tears are wet on my face. I'm shaking and my breath is shallow. _How could you do that to your only friends? They must hate you now. They will never understand. I can't ever see them again. I can't face them. I have been so weak._

: :

"I got it." Milo whispers from outside my cell.

I raise my head from my knees. "What?"

"I know how we're going to get out." He says. "I'll start a rumor that the heads of Hydra are getting suspicious of him. He'll send someone to investigate—me—and I'll find your friends. I will protect them so you can fight your way out of here. Can you do that? By yourself?"

I scowl. "Of course I can."

He ignores my cranky attitude. "I'll keep you posted." Then he's gone.

 _What will I do when—if—we escape? If I don't go back to Wanda and Pietro, what else is there for me? Rallying against the invaders gave me purpose. Now I don't have that anymore. I don't have them._

 _I have Milo._

I wonder if there might be some kind of future with him.

 _Does he love me?_

 _Do I love him?_

I have no idea.

Time enough to figure that out later if we escape.

* * *

 **A/N: So I've adjusted Sera's backstory with Wanda and Pietro a bit, so I need to update the first chapter. Someday. But for now, I'll just work on finishing it. Anyway, hope you liked it! Reviews are my absolute most favoritest things, so please leave one! I will update as soon as possible.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This one's a bit short. It was kinda hard to write. But at least I got it out, right? :) I hope you enjoy this latest installment in the adventures of Serafima Korzhakov!**

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I'm laying in bed, almost asleep, when Milo comes back. He's been gone for a few days, which is good. There will be plenty of time to get to know each other if we escape.

"Fi-Fi." His stage whisper startles me awake.

"Milo." I don't have the guts to use the nickname I said I would call him.

"Ovechkin has asked me to go check things out with the heads of Hydra. I'm leaving tomorrow morning at 0600."

"How long should I give you to find Wanda and Pietro?" I ask.

"An hour." He replies. "They should still be in Sokovia, right?"

"I don't see any reason why they wouldn't be."

"Then it shouldn't take too long. I'd imagine they'd stick out in a crowd." I can hear the smile in his voice, and I offer a small one in return.

He turns to walk away. "Be careful, Milo." I say.

"You, too."

: :

"Wake me up at 7:00 tomorrow morning so I can go to the bathroom." I say to the pair of booted feet stationed outside my cell. He's on the night shift, so I know he'll be able

"Why?" he asks, suspicious.

"Do you really want to know why? I'll tell you. It's my time of the month, and if I don't get in there right around 7:00-"

"No, don't tell me. I'll do it." He sounds disgusted, and I smirk. That's what I was going for. Since I don't have any way to keep time, I need a not-blind person to do it for me.

I can't sleep after that. It's hard to believe that tomorrow, I could be gone from this place forever. I've tried not to let myself get too excited about it, but now that we're so close, I can't keep the bubble of hope from expanding in my chest. I'll never have to obey Ovechkin again. Once we find Wanda and Pietro, I can warn them about him. They can protect themselves now. And then I won't have to face them again. I will be out of their lives forever, and they'll be safe. And maybe someday I'll be able to forget them and move on. Someday.

: :

"Hey искра," he says, drawing me from a restless sleep. "Time to get up."

That means Milo is already gone.

That means I have to get out of here on my own.

That means I'm going to see Wanda and Pietro soon.

I can't do this.

But I have to.

So, clenching my shaking hands, I rise to my feet and walk out of my cell. The pair of booted feet escorts me down the hall to the bathroom and waits outside.

I actually feel a bit like throwing up, but I take a few deep breaths and tell myself to man up. After a couple of minutes, I flush the toilet and run the faucet for a few seconds to make it sound like I actually went to the bathroom. Then I step silently to the exit. I poke my left hand out to make sure no one else is in the hall. Thankfully, we're alone.

"You done yet?" My pair of booted feet starts to ask, but he never finishes. I cover his mouth with my left hand and jolt him with my right on his chest. His weight falls against me, and I stagger backwards, dragging him into the bathroom. The longer it is before anyone finds him, the better.

Then I check again to make sure I don't have any company and head out into the hall. I put my left hand on the wall to find electrical pulses in the building. I need to find the fuse box so I can fry it. This whole escape thing will be much easier if I'm the only one who can see.

I'm following the electricity back to its source, right hand on the wall, left outstretched, when I sense a pair of booted feet in front of me.

"Hey!" he shouts. "What are you doing out of your cell?"

I can sense the gun he's got pointed at me. I need to get closer to him so I'll have the advantage. "Well, you see," I say, holding my hands out in a placating gesture and taking a step towards him. "I just used the bathroom and my escort left me, so I can't find my way back to my cell." I take another step towards him. Now the gun is within arm's reach. "Could you help me?" Another step, slightly to the side.

And before he has time to answer, I grab the barrel of the gun with my right hand, pushing it away from me and sending a bolt of electricity shooting through it and into him. With a strangled scream, he goes down, the gun clattering to the concrete. I step over his body, placing my hand on the wall again. I need to hurry before someone finds the two dead bodies I've left in my wake.

 _There should be more. Where are they?_ But I don't want to think about why that might be, so I just fry the fuse box, jumping back at the shower of sparks. I assume it's worked, but I really have no way of knowing. I hear surprised cries and know I need to be on my way before they come to investigate what's happened.

I race down the hall as fast as I can with only my senses to guide me. I have no idea where the exit is, I realize. I've been outside the compound before, but I don't know how to get there from here. So now I need to find a pair of booted feet. Preferably alone. Though making an example of any friends he might have wouldn't hurt.

As I come to a corner, I stick my hand around the wall to sense if anyone's coming. There's one standing in the middle of the hall. He's not moving. I creep around the corner and around to his back as quietly as I can.

"Who's there?" he asks as my boot scuffs the floor, pulling out a gun. He sounds young. His voice is shaking, and now that I'm closer, I can tell he is, too. He's frightened. It almost makes me feel bad for grabbing him from behind. Almost. _What kind of monster have I become?_ I shock the arm that holds the gun, making it clatter to the floor. I hold his arms behind his back and put my hand to the side of his face.

"Move, and I kill you. Shout, and I kill you. Try to run, and I kill you. Got it?" My voice is quiet.

He gives a panicked nod. _He's so scared._

"I need you to tell me how to get out of here."

In a hoarse whisper, he gives me some rather confused directions. His voice keeps cracking. _Is this who I am? Someone who is frightening enough to terrify soldiers?_

"Thank you." I whisper in his ear, then blast him with electricity. His dead weight slumps against me, and I drop him to the floor as quietly as I can. _I just killed him. A defenseless, frightened man._ I feel sick. _Are you proud of what you've done to me?_ I want to shout.

I step over his body, my hands shaking so much I can barely see three feet in front of me, and continue on my way. _This is for Wanda and Pietro. This is for Milo. This is for me. It will all be worth it._ Those words circle around and around in my head. I have to believe them.

I turn another corner cautiously, then hear the tramp of boots behind me. I freeze.

"Stop where you are." Ovechkin.

 _No, please no. I was so close. I can't stop now._

I hold my hands in the air, rotating my left hand slightly so I can sense what's behind me. There are several pairs of booted feet, but as long as the lights are still out, I can handle them.

"Don't move unless you want him to die." He says.

 _Him? Who is he—no. He has Milo._

 _He's probably just bluffing._

"That's a lie."

"Go on, Freund." Ovechkin says. "Let her know you're here."

Silence.

"Encourage him, will you?"

There's the sound of shifting bodies, then a thud accompanied by a groan.

 _Milo._

I should kill them anyway. _What's he to me? I barely know him._

But he tried to save me. I can't forget that.

And I can't leave him.

Even though it means turning my back on Pietro and Wanda.

Even though it might mean never seeing them again.

I can't take his death on my conscience.

My shoulders slump. Ovechkin's won.

We failed.

* * *

 **A/N: So there it is! Chapter eleven! Next chapter will be getting pretty intense and a bit dark, just so ya know. I'm way excited to write it. Please R &R, it means tons to me. See you next time, dear readers!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Ahoj, readers! (that's Czech for hello) This is a SUPER intense chapter that I've been really excited/dreading writing for ages. I feel pretty good about it and hope you enjoy it! :)**

* * *

I lie in my cell, empty and hopeless. _How could we fail? How could I have let this happen? How could I have chosen him over Wanda and Pietro? I should have let him die,_ I tell myself. _Your friendship with him is weakness. You can't care about him. He's just another chink in my armor that Ovechkin has exploited. And you let it happen. If you hadn't gotten attached to that soldier, you would be with Wanda and Pietro now. And they would be safe from Ovechkin._

A horrible thought occurs to me. _What if he's killed them for my disobedience?_ I tell myself that if he had, he would have told me, he would be gloating to me right now. But I can't shake the fear lodged in my gut.

 _I wonder what they're doing to Milo._ I can't imagine Ovechkin's going easy on him. My heart clenches as I think about what tortures he must be suffering. Then I scowl and remind myself not to feel for him. _He chose his fate._

 _But he tried to help you._

 _He knew the danger he was getting himself into. It's not my fault we got caught._

 _But he tried to help you._

I'm almost relieved when Ovechkin tears me from my thoughts.

His boots thud across the floor towards me, accompanied by the boot steps of a couple of the booted feet. They drag me from the ground and haul me up until I'm standing. I obstinately keep my head down, my eyes towards my feet. Not that I can see them, but it sends my message.

Then he hits me. Hard. In the stomach. I double over, pain exploding in my torso, my vision going black. My lungs refuse to take in air for a few moments.

"Is this how you repay my investment in you?" His voice is ice-cold.

Through my gasps, I say, "Investment? Try blackmailing and exploitation."

"Shut up." He says quietly. I'm not prepared for him to hit me again. Across the face. Ouch. My vision goes dark again, and I feel blood in my mouth. I wish I could say I spit it out defiantly, but all I managed was to drool.

Then I hear him take a deep breath and step away from me, like he found punching me cathartic. Which he probably did.

"You have been trouble from the start. I'm starting to wonder if you were the right one." He pauses. Then slowly, cruelly, he continues. "Maybe one of your friends would have been a better choice."

That's worse than any punch. I realize how stupid I've been. If we failed, which we did, Ovechkin has every reason to kill—or use—Wanda and Pietro. _I should have just accepted my situation. It's better for me to suffer than for them to suffer._ But I worry that it's too late. _What if he kills me and takes Wanda or Pietro in my place? What if he kills them to get to me?_ Both alternatives completely suck.

"Please, don't hurt them. I'll do whatever you want. Just leave them alone." I hate how weak my voice sounds. I hate that I'm begging him. I hate that he has that kind of power over me. But I hate the thought of Pietro and Wanda getting hurt because of me more. So I beg.

"Oh, it's too late for that. After what you've done, how can I trust you?" I grit my teeth at the injured tone in his voice. _You have no right to pretend you've been hurt more than I have by this._ "No, you need to prove yourself to me."

My heart sinks. Whatever he has in mind, it can't be good.

"Come." He says, then his boots thud away. Feeling the hands on my arms tighten, I don't think I have much of a choice. They push me forward, and I follow Ovechkin, tripping over the booted feet, having no idea where I'm going. And that terrifies me. _All his other tests led to me killing someone. Who will it be this time?_ Then a sickening thought strikes me, just as the booted feet pull me to a stop.

"Milo." I whisper.

"Fi-Fi?" It's his voice, all right. Hoarse and broken, but definitely his. "You look terrible."

Tears choke my voice, so I just nod.

All I can think is, _You sound terrible. What have they done to you?_

"Солдат Jung has been suffering for your foolish mistakes for the past several hours." Ovechkin says. He knows exactly how to hurt me. I try not to let him have the pleasure of seeing my pain, but when my heart feels like it's being ripped to shreds and my stomach feels like it's full of lead, it's hard. _This is all my fault. I should never have let him in. He wouldn't be suffering now if it weren't for me._

 _All I ever do is destroy lives._

But I shove those thoughts away.

 _Whatever Ovechkin makes me do to him will hurt more if I think like that._

I repeat one thought over and over again until it stops meaning anything:

 _He chose his fate._

"I've been enjoying causing him pain," Ovechkin continues. "But now I think it's your turn."

I feel sick.

 _I can't hurt him. He tried so hard to help me. He sacrificed himself for me._

 _He knew this could happen. He chose his fate._

 _It's not my fault._

"Come here, my dear." Ovechkin puts his arm around me—my skin crawls—and pushes me towards Milo. My legs seem to stop working. They feel numb. I feel numb. I want to slam my hand into Ovechkin's chest, let the electricity stop his heart—he deserves it, when he's torn mine to shreds so many times. I can feel the lightning in my veins. I can feel the electricity in my stomach. I can feel the fire in my chest. _It's his fault._

But I can't.

As much as I want to end him, I can't.

If I do, Wanda and Pietro will die.

If I don't, Milo will die.

Who do I choose?

 _Who do I choose?_

I can't. I can't choose between them. I can't.

"Give me your hand." Ovechkin says, and I numbly offer it up.

 _I can't hurt him._

 _He's not giving me a choice._

 _You still have one._

 _Wanda and Pietro? Or Milo?_

 _Old friends? Or new?_

Ovechkin places my hand on Milo's face. I can feel his breath, in—out, in—out. It's ragged, but there.

 _I can't hurt him._

"Give him a little jolt. Just a little." Ovechkin whispers in my ear. He's too close. I can't think.

 _I can't hurt him._

"If you want your friends to survive, you'll do what I say." There's a stone-hard undertone to his voice. I know he'll do what he threatens.

 _I can't let them die._

So I give him a little jolt. Just a little. And he gasps.

"Again."

So I give him a little jolt. Just a little. And he grunts.

"More."

So I give him a jolt. Just one. And he cries out.

"More!"

So I give him a big jolt. Not enough to kill him. And he screams.

I feel sick.

 _No more. I can't hurt him again. You've done enough._

"Good, my little молния." Ovechkin is pleased. But the hard undertone hasn't left. I don't think it ever will. "Don't stop."

I don't. I can't. Despite the fact that every one of Milo's screams echoes through my mind and my heart in shattering waves, I can't. Because I wouldn't ever forgive myself if Wanda and Pietro got hurt because of me. I feel my heart freeze to keep itself from splintering. It's like a cold weight in my chest. I can't breathe.

Ovechkin takes my hand again. It's sweaty and ice-cold. And it's shaking. So am I. I can barely stand. Ovechkin supports me, though. I won't fall. He places my hand on the soldier's chest—Milo?—and steps away. I waver without his body next to mine.

"Now kill him."

 _What?_

His voice seems to echo. It sounds so far away. It can't reach the lump of ice in my chest. But that hardness is impossible to ignore.

 _I can't do it. I can't._

"I understand."

Milo's voice does get through. All the way through. Into my chest and out the other side. I feel the first split in my frozen chunk. And it hurts. So much. It's like he's thrust a red-hot knife into it.

"Just do it, Fi-Fi."

It splits again. I can feel the melting ice stream in little rivulets down my body. His voice is tired. So tired.

"Go on." It's Ovechkin's again.

A surge of fury melts it the rest of the way. I want to kill him instead. Why can't I just kill him?

But I know I can't.

Not without killing them, too.

That will have to come later.

When I'm ready.

But now, I don't have a choice.

It's him or them.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Those are the last words he ever says.

* * *

 **A/N: Did you cry? I did. I hate/love killing characters. It hurts so bad, but it's really fun at the same time, ya feel? Anyway, please leave a review! They are the best things in the whole entire world.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: This is a really short one, but I feel pretty good about the content. So enjoy Sera's suffering, I guess...**

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I hear Milo's body slump to the floor. He's dead. I killed him. The only one who was kind to me. Dead. Murdered. By me. _Is that all I am now? A murderer? What happened to who I used to be? Is there still any of that girl left?_ I feel sick. The booted feet take my arms again and drag me away from him. I scream. I struggle. But inside, I don't really care. Why should I care? I barely knew him. He was just a pair of booted feet. Faceless, meaningless. I wonder, numbly, what he liked to do. If he had any siblings. If anyone besides me would care that he was dead.

 _Do I care?_ I know I do. But it hurts too much. It hurts too much to care. So I can't. But I can't get rid of it. The caring. I hate the fractured feeling in my chest, the slimy feeling in my stomach, the heavy feeling all over my body. But there's nothing I can do about it. I can't take back what I did, as much as I want to. _Do I want to? Do I regret what I did?_

Of course I do. But I would have regretted not doing it, too. _Did I do the right thing?_ I can't answer that. I can't choose between Wanda and Pietro and Milo again. I tell myself I already made that choice, that there's nothing I can do about it now, that I have to forget and move on. But I can't. I hate all the "I can'ts" swirling around my head. I hate how helpless I am. I hate feeling so powerless. I have done this to myself. I have played God in so many lives. Taken away their right to choose. It's only right that I should be left like this. Backed into a corner. Left without a way to change anything. Not that I ever had a choice. Not since that night that Ovechkin offered me that deal. It's his fault. All of this.

But he still left me a choice. Wanda and Pietro or Milo. It was a horrible choice to have to make, but still a choice. And I chose Wanda and Pietro. _Why?_ If I ever see them again, they'll hate me for what I've done. I had a chance with Milo. He knew what I've done. He understood that I never had a choice. And he chose to help me anyway. _Why?_ I want to get to know him better, understand him better. I want to go talk to him, to ask him _why. Why did you help me? Why did you betray him?_ But it's too late. Because of me. Because I chose to end his life. I played God for him. He and I are trapped, just the same. Neither of us can choose anymore. Neither of us can change. I can't just forget that and move on. He will never get to live his life because of me. _Because of me._

 _No. Not me. Because of Ovechkin._ I can't forget who the real villain is. I may have done some awful things, but I did them because he forced me to. _I could have chosen me. I could have chosen to defy him and let Wanda and Pietro die. Would that have been better?_ I can't answer any of these questions, and I scream at myself to stop wondering, stop torturing myself. But I can't. I'm helpless against the downward spiral into the miserable, wretched depths of my own mind. There's nothing I can do. There's nothing I've been able to do for so long. I'm completely helpless. Powerless. And I have been for months. Years. Since I gave myself over to Death. Since I pledged myself to do his work. _What else could I have done? What would have been different if I had never met Wanda and Pietro? If I had never joined von Strucker's experiments? If I had just died when my parents did?_

 _It doesn't matter,_ I remind myself. _That's all in the past. You can't change that. What are you going to do_ now _?_ Yet another question I can't answer. _What is left to do? I've lost. I'm beaten. I can't fight anymore. Not without hurting more people, losing more lives. I can't do that._

 _But if I stay, if I let Ovechkin control my life, people will still be hurt, lives will still be lost. Nothing I can do will prevent that._

Then that little voice enters my head. That siren song of freedom.

 _But if I killed him._

 _No._

 _If he were dead._

 _Impossible._

 _I'd be free._

 _I can't._

 _Wanda and Pietro would be safe._

 _Or they could die._

 _But you'd never know. You'd never know if you would have succeeded. You'd always wonder if you could have gotten away. If you could have escaped him._

 _I can't risk it._

 _You have to. What choice do you have?_

 _No._

 _Choose yourself for once!_

 _But—_

 _No. He's done controlling my life. It's his turn to suffer._

It feels good to have my mind made up.

 _I'll never kill for him again._

: :

I don't ever cry for Milo. I don't ever find out what they did to his body. The sudden end to our brief friendship just becomes the biggest block in my foundation of hatred for Ovechkin. It's what I think of when I doubt my decision to kill him. When I wonder if it's worth it. And I remember that it is. Because I never, ever want to feel like that again.

It makes me wish that there were someone Ovechkin loved.

Because then I could make him kill them.

Then he'd know what it's like.

It's only what he deserves.

* * *

 **A/N: All the Milo feels! And Sera's finally going to DO something instead of passively accepting stuff...so that's exciting. :) Hope to be back with the next chapter ASAP, but in the meantime, please leave a review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I'm back! Man, this chapter took a while. I'm not entirely happy with the first bit, but hey, at least it's up, am I right? So enjoy, my dear readers!**

* * *

Ovechkin leaves me alone for a few days. I think he knows he's pushed me farther than he should have. And leaving me alone is a good move. For him, anyway. Because I start doubting myself. I wonder if I'm stupid to think I can beat him. I wonder if I'll just get Wanda and Pietro killed. I wonder and wonder and wonder until I can't take it anymore. Over and over again, I weigh pros and cons, consider my options, overthink my decisions. I try to distract myself, but there's really nothing else to think about, unless I want to drive myself crazy thinking about Milo. Which I really don't. So I end up driving myself crazy thinking about whether I'm going to fight or roll over and give up.

My mental chart goes something like this:

Pros

No more killing (after Ovechkin, of course)

Find Wanda and Pietro

Cons

Wanda and Pietro might die

I might die (as often as I had wished for this, I still had that stupid survival instinct that said living was a good thing)

Wanda and Pietro would hate me for what I've done

In the end, I decide that the cons outweigh the pros, and Ovechkin has won. I'm done fighting. I'm sick of it. Better for my soul to be blackened by murder than to lose another friend. I've resigned myself to a life under Ovechkin's thumb. But then he shows up in my cell, and the hate starts all over again. Just feeling his smug presence is enough to make me wish I could strangle him there and now. And suddenly the pros outweigh the cons.

"How are you feeling, удар молнии?" he asks pleasantly. He sounds so confident in his triumph over me. I've got to prove him wrong. He hasn't won. I'm not his.

Of course, he doesn't expect me to answer, and I don't. What's new, am I right? He moves on, just as pleasantly.

"I've got a little job for you." He says. I've never heard him so happy. _Watch out, Ovechkin. It's not over._ "Nothing too difficult. You don't even have to go far." I hear the booted feet move towards me, but I stand on my own before they can haul me up. They still grab my arms, though. Which makes sense, since I'm blind and all, but it's still annoying.

As we head down to whatever room this "job" is in, Ovechkin continues talking, while I continue hating him. "This is simple, so I expect you to get it right. All I need you to do is kill her. She's even tied down. If you'd like, I can have these two gentlemen guide you to the chair." I have to try really hard to keep myself from hitting him. He's enjoying himself way too much. _Good thing you've got me to keep you humble, Ovechkin._

 _What am I talking about? I can't kill him! That's what I decided, remember?_

 _Before that, I decided I would. There's no way I can take this for…however long he keeps me alive. It's either him or me._

 _If I killed myself, I'd get away from Ovechkin and protect Wanda and Pietro._

 _He'd just take one of them instead. I can't do that to them. He has to go._

"Go on," Ovechkin says, ushering me into the room. "She doesn't bite. She's much nicer than most of the people I've had you kill." Then he leaves, along with the two booted feet. I suppose it's too much to hope for that they're not watching. Holding my left hand out in front of me, I sense a chair in the middle of the room, its back to me. As I move closer to "see" it better, I hear a sniff. And another. And then a little whimper. _How old is she?_ I come around to the front of the chair and touch her knee so I can sense her more clearly. She yelps and starts struggling. I shushed her as gently as I could manage. _She's so small._ _She can't be more than—oh._ I feel sick. _He's trying to make me like him._ That's what this is. It's not enough to make me kill evil people, he has to make me kill _a child._ I know I can't do it. I refuse to kill for him again.

But I can't just flat-out refuse. That would get Wanda and Pietro killed. I have to get Ovechkin in here somehow, cut off from his booted feet. Or at least cut off from most of them. He'd definitely come in here to gloat if I killed her, but I can't actually kill her. I just have to make it look like I did. But the poor kid is near hysteria now. There's no way I can get her to agree to play dead. So I'll have to knock her out. Like I did to Wanda and Pietro. I can only hope this will end better.

Still shushing her and not having much effect, I stand and move to her side. The moment my hand touches her shoulder, she cries out again and struggles harder. I want to tell her that I'm not going to hurt her, but I know it's a lie. This will hurt. But it won't kill her. At least I hope not. I actually have no idea how much will knock her out without killing her. It's probably less than I used on Wanda and Pietro. But how much less? I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. _Just don't kill her._

My chest is tight, and my hands shake. I think I'm sending little sparks of electricity into her, because she starts whimpering again. _Just do it. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can get out of here. The sooner you can live again._ I take another deep breath—not that it really helps—and shock her. She shrieks in pain, but doesn't slump. _Not enough._

"Sorry," I murmur before I can stop myself. She probably thinks I'm trying to torture her or something. I give it a little more, and she's out. I feel her body relax, her head fall forward. But her heart's still beating. I did it. _I did it._ It's hard to not grin. Until Ovechkin walks in, that is. Then it becomes really, really easy.

"Well done, удар молнии," he says as he reenters the room, flanked by his booted feet. _There are only two of them. They'll be no problem. But what if I can get them to leave without killing?_

I adjust my posture so I look meek and obedient. _Don't overplay it…._ "I was wondering if I could speak with you in private." I can barely stand how _weak_ I sound. I have to keep reminding myself that this will only last for a few minutes. Then he'll be dead. And I'll be free.

"You don't need to be worried about anything you might say in front of my soldiers," he says. "They're not about to tell anyone." He still sounds smug. I hate that, too.

"I was more thinking of you, sir," I reply. _Sir? That's disgusting!_ "I wanted to ask you about what you plan for me, and I thought that you might not want anyone else to know."

"How… _thoughtful_ of you," he replies, a hint of a sneer coloring his voice. _Shoot, I went too far. He's going to see right through me._ My stomach has dropped right into the concrete and I'm sure my face is much paler than normal. "But I'm not ready for even you to know what my plans are for you."

 _Of course. Ugh, I should have thought this through!_ I just nod.

"Take her back to her cell," he commands. From the sound of it, his good mood is entirely gone.

Panic bursts in my chest as I realize that if I go back to my cell, they'll figure out that the girl's not dead. And then my chance for escape will be gone. I'll have to wait ages to get him to believe he's beaten me again. _Time to fight._

As the booted feet take my arms, I do a quick scan of the room. The door's ahead of me and slightly to the left. _I can do this._ They push me towards it, and I go with them, still acting the obedient slave. Just before we cross the threshold, I sent a bolt of electricity screaming into their bodies. As they go limp—I can't tell if they're dead or unconscious—I throw them through the doorway and slam it shut. But as I turn back to Ovechkin, I hear a gun cock.

"Smart," he purred. "I thought you were going to try something like this." There's another click, and I tense. "Don't worry; this won't hurt you. At least not directly. All units, report to X-43."

 _I'm about to die. They're going to come in, break the door down, and fill my body with bullets. And then they're going to find out the girl is still alive and kill her just because they want to. And all because I failed. I couldn't even take down three men._

But I can't just _give up_. My only chance is to disarm Ovechkin before they get here and seal the door. I'll figure it out from there. I scan the room again. _There's no way I'm getting that gun out of his hands without getting shot._ _But getting shot is better than dying. Or having to stay here and continue working for him._

"You're going to try something, I can tell," he sighed. "You know, this whole process would be much easier if you would just _stop fighting._ "

 _I can't. You pushed me to this. You pushed me to the point where I have nothing left to lose._

"You have no one to blame but yourself," I reply, probably one of the longest sentences I've ever said to him. I can hear booted feet marching down the hall outside. _Get moving if you want to survive this._

I reach out and grab his wrist with my right hand.

The gun goes off.

I send a shock up his arm.

Pain explodes in mine.

The gun clatters to the floor.

I twist his arm around so his back is to me and slam him against the wall.

He struggles, but it's too late.

I jolt him again, just enough to knock him out.

His dead weight slumps to the ground.

Adrenaline pumps through me with little crackles of electricity.

My arm is pulsing with pain, but I'm not done yet. The booted feet are almost in.

Clumsily, I lift the girl out of the chair with my right arm and lay her on the ground. Then I grab the chair and shove it under the doorknob against the door. They try to open it; I hear the doorknob clicking.

I gently probe the wound on my arm, hissing at the sharp pain. _I've got to get pressure on that…._ At first, I've got no idea, but then inspiration strikes at the same moment as the booted feet slam against the door. I tear my boot and sock off and tie the latter around my arm with my teeth, gagging at the awful taste.

With that taken care of, I can do something more constructive about the booted feet. That chair won't hold forever, and I need to get past them. Gingerly, I place my left hand on the wall just as they ram into the door again. I sense eight of them out there. Taking a deep breath that hitches when they hit the door again, I switch hands and pour electricity into the wall. I hear screams, thuds, silence. And I pull my hand away. Now I'm breathing hard. I don't think I've ever done that much for that long. But I can't rest. There's no time.

Now it's Ovechkin's turn.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided that was a good spot to end it. Please leave a review with your thoughts on my latest update!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So stuff actually happens in this chapter! Yay! It's a bit short, but a lot happens, so...anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

He's lying there. Just lying there. Defenseless. Just like I was. Now it's my turn to hold all the power. And I'll make him _suffer._

I tie his hands together with my belt, his feet with my bootlaces. Then I take his gun from the floor and kick him awake, stepping back out of striking distance. That was his mistake, after all.

There are a few moments of silence as he comes to himself and realizes what's happened. Then he laughs. Just laughs. And he says, "Well done, удар молнии."

"Shut up," I tell him, unnerved by his response, but trying to hide it. "It's my turn to talk now."

"Then by all means, continue," He replies, seemingly unfazed by the fact that his life is in my hands.

But I have nothing to say. There's too much to put into words. I can't tell him how much I hate him. I can't tell him how long I've waited for this. I can't tell him how good it feels to finally be on the winning side.

"Nothing to say?" he chuckled.

I cock the gun, reminding him who has the power here.

But he just laughs again.

"Stop that," I growl.

"Kill me if you like," he replies. "See if I care."

I almost do. I come so close to pulling that trigger. But I know if I kill him, I'll become just like him. A cold-blooded killer. Not only that, but I'll never get answers.

"What is all of this about?"

"That's quite a general question you've got there. Are you referring to this specific situation or just life?" His carefree attitude grates on my nerves.

"I mean why me? Why go to these lengths to make me work for you? Am I really worth that much to you?"

"No, not you specifically. Really anyone would have done. You were just particularly vulnerable."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your friends," he replied. "They made you very easy to manipulate."

"I must be worth something to you, though." My voice sounds weak, even to myself. I wish I hadn't spoken.

He snorts. "Would you like me to tell you that I came to care deeply about you as you sold your soul to me and that I want to adopt you as my daughter and retire in peace? I could. It would just be one more lie."

"No," I forced out, trying to sound stronger. "No more lies."

"Fine," he replies nonchalantly.

"If I don't personally mean a thing to you-"

"You don't."

"Shut up. If I don't personally mean a thing to you, why did you go to all this trouble to manipulate me into working for you?"

"Let's just say I'm very invested in the future of my particular line of business."

"So what, this is some kind of 'carry on with my work after I'm gone' deal?"

"Essentially."

"And you actually thought I'd do what you wanted?"

"Oh, how naïve. You still think you're defying me, don't you?" He sighs in mock disappointment. "Everything you have done-everything you have become-is exactly what I wanted."

 _I've been an absolute idiot. I've just played into his hands. He wants me to kill him._ Of course, that just makes me want to kill him more. His hateful superiority, his obnoxious good humor—I know he's trying to goad me into pulling the trigger, but that doesn't stop it from working.

"Now all I've got to do is tell my men to kill your friends, and you'll be all alone in the world. No one to keep you from becoming _just like me._ "

My chest seizes up. My breath rushes in raggedly. My sweaty hand tightens on the gun. I sense him shift.

 _No._

Electricity jolts through my body. My finger jerks.

An explosion.

He still moves.

Another explosion.

He still laughs.

Another explosion.

He's still.

I hear his last gasp of breath.

His last moment of life.

He's _dead?_

Dead.

Gone.

I _killed him?_

Shot him.

Three times.

 _What have I done?_

 _He. Deserved. It._

I murdered him.

 _Murdered._

"Did you get her, boss?"

With a shuddering breath, I come back to the cell.

 _I have to get out of here._

I force my body and my mind to move.

There's no way I can pretend to be Ovechkin and get the booted feet to go away. Which means I need to be out of here before they get in.

"Boss?"

Or I could just go through them. That's never been a problem before.

 _So just keep killing people. That's no problem. They all deserve it._

 _Milo didn't._

My chest feels like it's caving in. _I can't think about him right now. He's just another distraction._

I take the few steps to the door and stumble over the body of the girl. A frustrated wail escapes my lips. It sounds weak.

 _I. CAN'T._

I want to scream.

 _WHY AM I SO WEAK?_

My eyes shut against tears.

"If you killed him, you know what'll happen." His voice is hard. "Your friends die, too."

 _I have to. For them._

I force a breath. In, out. Good.

 _I can do this._

My mind narrows to just this one moment. I can't afford any more delays. I can't afford any more weakness.

I clumsily place my left hand against the door and take a look outside. There's another thud on the door, and I jerk away from it. _Calm down, you've still got time._

There are at least 20 of them out there. And probably more on the way. I have no idea exactly how many men Ovechkin has working for him, but there can't be too many more. A big operation would mean publicity, and that was something he would have avoided at all costs. At least that's what I tell myself.

Another body slams against the door.

"Leave it, there's no point. Killing one of her friends will do enough damage."

 _I have to. For them._

I force another breath. A deep one. In…out. Good.

I place my right hand against the door. My palm's all sweaty. _Oh, well._

I close my eyes. It doesn't make a difference.

 _I don't have a choice._

Without allowing myself another thought, I blast electricity into the door.

It rips through me like a tidal wave.

But it hurts more than that.

A scream. Mine. It won't stop.

More screams. Theirs. They stop, though.

I yank my hand away from the door. It still twitches with the lightning in my blood.

My breath gulps in and out. I force a smooth one. In. Out. Good.

Another tidal wave rips through me. I can feel my body trembling.

 _I've lost control._

 _Just keep it together, okay? I can do that, right? Just a little longer. Just until Wanda and Pietro are safe. Then…I have no idea. But I can keep it together until "then."_

I clench my fist tightly and force another breath. In. Out. Good.

 _Okay, calm down. What's the next step? Focus on that. Just that._

I grab the chair and yank it away from the door. It clatters to the ground as I twist the doorknob and pull.

The bitter stench makes me sway. I'd never smelled it that strong before. _How many of them did I murder?_

I can't swallow. I can't breathe. My head swims. Then I'm on the ground without knowing how I got there and throwing up without being sick.

I force a few breaths this time. In, out. In, out. In, out. Good.

My mouth tastes awful.

 _Just ignore it. I can do that, right? This is for Wanda and Pietro. All of this is for them._

* * *

 **A/N: So there it is! Chapter 15! I'm gonna do my best to finish this by May/June, so updates will probably be coming faster.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Look at me, updating quickly! I think this might be my fastest update pretty much ever. Also, it's pretty long, so that's a bonus. :) Anyway, enjoy this latest installment in the tale of Serafima Korzhakov!**

* * *

I step over the bodies, my breath shallow. _Okay, what next? I have to find them. I need someone with eyes to do that. One of the booted feet would work well. He'll probably already know where they are._ I just hope there's still one who's alive.

My shaky legs carry me down the hall and around the corner before I remember the girl. _I can't just leave her there…_ Hesitantly, I turn around and head back to the stench. I start gagging again, but thankfully, I don't throw up.

I almost trip over her body again, I'm so distracted. She murmurs words I don't understand when I shake her awake and tries to bat my hand away.

"Wake up, девочка," I whisper. I can't bring myself to talk any louder.

Suddenly, she sits bolt upright, smacking my hand. "You hurt me." Her voice trembles, but it's still an accusation.

"I know," I reply, as gently as I can with impatience almost choking me. "I'm sorry. I had to."

"What do you mean?" She's still closed to me, I can tell. Distrusting. I have to convince her that I'm not going to hurt her again. I have to get her out of here.

"That man," I continue, pointing vaguely in Ovechkin's direction, "is very bad. He made me hurt people to protect my friends." I pause, searching for words. _How do I explain this to a child?_ "He wanted me to…to kill you." I bite my lip, unsure if that was too much.

"Why?" She's shocked by this, but not as much as I was worried she'd be.

"He's just a very bad and angry man."

"Did he hurt your eyes?"

I blink. That was the last thing I expected. For the first time, I realized that my eyes must _look_ different. It takes me a second to answer her. "Um, no. That was an accident."

"You can't see, can you?"

"No." Then a thought strikes me. _Maybe…_ "That's why I need your help, девочка—what's your name?"

"Alyosha," she says uncertainly.

 _Oh. A boy, then._ "Alyosha. I need your help because I can't see and I'm trying to find my friends so I can protect them."

"But the bad man looks dead. He can't hurt them if he's dead."

"He is dead, but he sent other bad men to hurt my friends."

He's silent for a few moments as he digests this. "I don't know where your friends are, though."

"I know. I'm going to find one of the bo—soldiers that are still here to tell me where they are."

"Why do you need me, then?"

Impatience makes my fist clench, but I force a breath. In, out. Good. "I need you to help me find them when we get there."

"But I don't know what they look like."

"He's got brown, curly hair and scruff on his face. She's got long, brown, wavy hair and wears lots of jewelry." My chest feels heavy when I think about them.

"That doesn't help very much."

Sighing, I rack my brains for anything else I can say that will help him recognize them. "They're twins: Wanda and Pietro Maximoff." _Of course!_ "He can run really fast and she can do things with her mind."

"Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver?"

"Ummm…yes…"

"I know who they are. They were on the news a lot. Except he doesn't have brown hair."

It takes me a second to realize that that's not really a problem. After all, my hair went from red to blue. "Great."

"That doesn't mean I'll help you."

I almost scream. "Please," my voice breaks. I sound weak, helpless, desperate. _So what? I am._

He sighs, sounding awfully grown up. _How old is this kid?_ "I can't trust you."

"Fine," I reply bitterly, getting unsteadily to my feet. "Stay here. Wait for the boo—soldiers to find you and kill you. I can do this on my own." I go back to the door and step out, cringing when I realize I've put my foot right down on some poor booted feet's body. It's _squishy._ Bile rises in my throat again.

The girl sighs again. "You obviously can't. And it would be pretty stupid of me to just stay here and get killed, so…I guess I'll help you."

I kind of want to smack him. But I also want to laugh. The way he made it sound like his idea… In any case, we need to get going. My stupid blindness and her stupid stubbornness might have gotten Wanda and Pietro killed by now. The thought takes all the laugh out of my system. Instead, there's a gaping hole in my chest and a tremor in my hand.

Then he grabs it. My hand. It does a little spasm and shocks him.

"Hey!" he yells, jerking his hand away. "I thought you weren't going to hurt me!"

"Sorry," I mutter. "Accident."

Suspiciously, he takes my hand again. "This is how you lead blind people, right?"

I just shrug. "Works for me."

"Ew, what happened to all of them? Why are they just lying out here?"

"I-" _I can't tell him I murdered them._ "I knocked them out. Like you."

"Gotcha." Then I stub my toe on something hard and my nose hits a second later.

"Really?"

"Whooops," he says in the most not-sorry tone ever. "Accident."

 _What a snarky little turd._

Then I remember Wanda and Pietro. "Okay, we're wasting time." Panic is rising in my chest. "We need to get out of here." There's a tremor in my voice now, as well as my hand.

"Calm down," he replies, squeezing my hand, actually sounding sincere.

It doesn't help much, but it does a little.

"Okay, where are we going?" he asks.

"Out." _Not yet._ "Hang on. First we need to find a pair of booted feet."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"A—a soldier."

"Oookay…"

"Just work with me, kid."

"Alyosha."

"Alyosha. Right. We need to _go._ "

"Hang on, what's your name?"

"Sera. We need to _go._ "

"Fine, bossy-pants."

 _Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up._ I force a breath. In. Out. Good. "Okay, let's find ourselves a…soldier. Grab one of the earpieces from one of these men."

"That's gross."

"Just. Do. It."

With a few more exclamations about how gross it was, he manages to get one and hand it to me. I shove it in my own ear and try to shut out his complaints.

"Hello? Do you need reinforcements? I repeat, do you need reinforcements? Alexeev, do you copy?" The voice is male. It's confident, but I can hear a tremor underneath.

I clear my throat a couple times and lower my voice, making it husky. "I copy. The girl attacked us. All the other men are dead. I barely survived. Are there any others left here besides you?"

"Not sure."

"Come to…" It takes me a second to remember what the room's ID number is. "X-43. With anyone else you find."

"Copy that, Alexeev. Fedorov out."

"I thought you said the bad men were just knocked out." Alyosha jumps on the silence.

"They are, but I had to tell that soldier that they were dead to get him to come down here."

"If they're not dead, why not just use one of them?"

"We can't wait for one of them to wake up." There's a charged silence. _Please, just accept that. Don't ask anything else._

"Makes sense," he says finally.

With that taken care of, I open my palm so I'll be able to see the pair of booted feet coming. After he ran me into the wall, I'm not sure I trust Alyosha to keep an eye out for him. _There he is._ He steps slowly around the corner, gun in hand.

 _I should have thought this through better._

He stops, raises it, and I know it's pointing right at my head.

 _Stupid._

I raise my hands in surrender. He steps forward. "Did you kill Alexeev?"

I shrug. "I killed all of them." The more nervous I can make him, the more likely he is to make a stupid mistake. Not unlike the stupid mistake I just made. "Get behind the wall, Alyosha." He has to come out of this alive.

"You're sick," he says, and the tremor is more pronounced now.

I force a smirk over my face. It feels twisted and wrong. "Probably. But who cares?" _Just a little closer…_

"You murdered all of these men, and you don't even care? Are you even human?"

I find it ironic that a man who works for probably the least human human I've ever met is asking me that question. Bitterly ironic. "Not anymore."

He's close enough that I can sense him shaking. It's probably anger more than fear, but that works, too.

"Good. That means I don't have to feel bad about killing a girl."

 _There!_

I lunge to the side as the gun goes off and grab the barrel. My hand is burning, and I can't tell if it's the heat of the barrel or the electricity. My arm is jerked forward as he goes down, so I pull back and wrench the gun out of his hands. I point it in his general direction and pray he isn't brave enough to capitalize on the fact that I can't see him.

"All right," I say, trying to calm my twitching insides and keep my hand steady. "Fedorov, was it? Never mind, I don't really care. I need you to get me to Wanda and Pietro Maximoff."

"You're too late," he replies. "They've got to be dead by now."

"I. Don't. Care. Get me to them. Or _you_ die." My voice is hard, which is good. He needs to think I'm serious. Honestly, I don't think I can actually kill him. I'm beyond sick of killing people.

"Fine. Whatever," he says, shrugging. "I like not dying." I hate how easily he believes me.

"Good," I reply, setting the gun aside before he realizes I have no way of aiming it accurately. "Alyosha, come on. We're going."

"What, the kid's coming, too? We're going into a warzone."

"Oh, you suddenly care about what happens to him? You didn't seem to when Ovechkin wanted him executed."

"I'm not that heartless. I didn't want you to kill the kid. The boss was just paying me enough to not do anything about it."

"You people are all monsters." _Except Milo. He was too good for this place._ There's that gaping hole again.

I hear him shrug again. "No more than you."

I don't answer that. I don't have an answer. I can't deny it. But I can't just resign myself to the thought that I'm like them, either. So I just grab Alyosha's hand—who has gone very quiet in the presence of the pair of booted feet—and gesture to Fedorov to get moving. He seems way too relaxed. _He's trying to delay you._ But what else can I do? I don't know where they are, and I can't see to find out. I need him to take me.

"We need to go," I growl, lifting my right hand threateningly.

"No problem," he says, and heads off down the hall. Alyosha reluctantly follows him, me in tow. I cringe every time I step on some dead guy's body, and hope Alyosha doesn't notice the fact that they're not breathing. My insides get all twitchy at the thought.

Fedorov takes us to some kind of jet/airplane/flying transportation thing outside. He takes the controls while Alyosha sits me down behind the cockpit. He sits down next to me, still holding my hand. _Apparently the girl who almost killed him isn't as scary as one of the men who kidnapped him._ That was…comforting.

"Where are you taking us?" I ask the pair of booted feet.

"Sokovia," he shouts back to us. My stomach gives a violent lurch as we take off.

"Sokovia? They're still there?"

"Well, they didn't just stay there the whole time, but they're there now."

"Oh." It's all I can say when he doesn't go on. _What are they still doing in Sokovia? You'd think someone would have snatched them up by now…_ Well, at least it makes our job easier. They should be pretty close, going from the fact that all of Ovechkin's booted feet speak Russian. "How long will it take to get there?"

"Long enough that they'll be dead before we do."

"Stop. Saying. That." It's not true. They have to still be alive when I get there. I can't let them die. Even if we never talk again, I cannot let them die. Even if I never get a chance to explain, I. Cannot. Let. Them. Die. I only made it through Milo's death because I knew I'd done it so Wanda and Pietro would live. If they die…I just can't process it. No. They have to live.

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 **A/N: The next chapter will reconnect us with our beloved twins! The end is in sight, friends! I hope to be back with the next update soon. Until then, farewell!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: This one's a little short, but I hope it makes up for that in intensity! This chapter was suuuuuuper painful to write, and, as a writer, I kinda hope it's equally painful to read. Be sure to let me know! (Bonus points for anyone who cries like I did :P)**

* * *

"Well, that's new," Fedorov says, shock coloring his voice.

Alyosha stands and goes to the cockpit. He doesn't say anything, so I get up clumsily and make my way to him. "What is it? What's going on?" No one answers. "In case you forgot, you've got a blind girl on board."

Fedorov speaks hesitantly. "Sokovia…is…flying."

"What?" I yell, thinking that with all the noise, I heard him wrong.

"The city. Is flying."

"Okay, what?"

"I have no idea! All I know is there is a huge chunk of rock with a bunch of buildings on it floating in the sky!"

 _They've got to be there. They never knew when to head away from trouble._ "Well, what are you waiting for? Go land!"

"No way," he replies, and I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, just as a reminder. He mutters something I can't hear.

"Well?"

"I'm going!"

I remove my hand from his shoulder. "Good."

"You're going to get all of us killed!" he shouts back.

 _I can't let that stop me. I can't let them die just to save a man who helped keep me prisoner for months and a boy who was too stupid to stay out of this._

We shudder onto the ground, but it's not any more stable than we were in the air. As the door slides open, my ears are assaulted with noise. Screams, rumbles, clanking, thudding…I can't even name all I'm hearing.

"As soon as you're off, I'm out of here," Fedorov yells to me.

 _If he leaves, we won't have a way off of this flying hunk of rock._ I grab his shoulder again and shock him hard to knock him out. _Maybe that was too hard… Who cares? He would have killed me if I'd given him the chance._

"Stay here and wait for me, Alyosha," I say as I exit the plane. I don't wait for him to answer. I can't. Not now. Not when I'm so close. Whatever he might have said is drowned in the noise. The screams, the rumbling, the clanging, the _noise._

"Wanda!" I shout as loud as I can. "Pietro!" My voice cracks. A thrill of nervousness runs through me, making my hair stand on end with electricity. _What on earth am I going to say to them?_

 _You won't. Just save them. That's all that matters._

"Wanda! Pietro!"

I start running forward, praying they're somewhere close. "Wanda! Pi-" I hit the ground, my leg throbbing with pain, my palms stinging. There's rubble everywhere. I limp to my feet, a scream rising in my throat. _WHY DO I HAVE TO BE BLIND?_ My fists are clenched, and tremors are running through my body.

 _Focus. FOCUS. You need to find Wanda and Pietro._

"Pietro! Wanda!" My throat feels raw. _There's no way they can hear me over all this. How the heck am I going to find them? I CAN'T DO THIS._

 _Calm down. FOCUS. Just keep moving._

My legs move mechanically, taking me forward. _Too slow. It's too slow. There's no way I'll be able to find them._

"Wanda! Pietro!"

I hold my left hand out, trying to sense them, but there are too many heartbeats, too much breathing. My breath hitches. My chest heaves. _Too fast, too fast. Breathe._ I scream their names again.

I stagger away from all the heartbeats. _So many people._ There are less now. I can sense individuals. There are several scattered around. The heartbeats are fast. So is the breathing. Then I sense one I know is the boy's. He's off to my left.

 _Alyosha._ There's another heartbeat with him, a stronger one. Alyosha feels slow, like he's asleep. _I told you to stay put._ At least he's not dead. And there's someone with him. He'll be fine. I keep moving, my toes catching on stones, but I don't trip. There's another heartbeat to my right. It's very fast. Much faster than anyone else's.

 _Pietro._ It has to be.

"Pietro!"

I run and pain explodes in my leg as it slams into a boulder.

My body aches. I lie there. I can't think.

Bullets hail down around me.

I hear them thudding into the rock.

They pass.

I lunge to my feet, but he's not there.

 _Pietro?_

"Pietro!" A cough chokes my voice off.

I hold my hand out. _Fast, fast fast. Where is he?_

His heartbeat isn't there.

Alyosha's is, though. And the one with him.

 _They have to know where he went._

My legs won't work right, but I hobble towards them.

A stone slides out from under me, and I fall.

My hands hit something warm.

It's a body, I know that.

But there are lots of bodies here.

Dead ones.

This one doesn't matter.

I need to find the fast heartbeat.

"Where's Pietro?" My voice scrapes out of my throat.

"Kid, he…" The heartbeat belongs to a man. His voice is rough, husky. "He's right there."

"Right there? Right where?" I want to hit him. Can't he see how bad I need to find him?

My chest caves in.

 _Right there._

A tremor rips through me and into the body.

 _His body?_

 _No._

 _No._

 _He can't—_

 _Maybe—_

I jolt him again.

 _No heartbeat._

 _No fast heartbeat._

 _No breathing._

 _No Pietro._

A wave of pain takes my breath away.

It's red. All red.

There's a scream.

 _Me?_

I can't tell.

 _Wanda._

It's her.

It's just like before.

I lurch to my feet, tripping into the man. He tries to grab me, to keep me here.

"Hey, calm down," he says, but I shove him away.

"Let go!" A shock thrills through me.

I'm free.

I'm running again.

 _I have to find her._

"Wanda!"

I hold my hand out in front of me just as my toe catches on a stone.

My already battered hands catch me.

Pain jolts up my left arm.

I hear a click.

It's close.

My hazy brain snaps into focus, and I lift my hand off the dusty ground, gritting my teeth against the pain. There's a man. Holding something long and metal.

 _Click._

 _Wanda._

I lunge for him.

 _BAM._

My shoulder slams into his legs.

He falls on top of my arms.

Pain splits into my focus.

He's on top of me, holding me down.

I can't breathe.

I'm choking on the dust.

A shudder trembles right through me.

I sense metal.

 _Knife._

I jerk to the side, back scraping over pebbles.

Something slams into my shoulder.

 _A fist?_

I get a hand on his arm and shock him.

He doesn't respond at all.

I must not have hit him very hard.

Pain wrenches my arm as he lifts me off the ground.

Nothing.

Pain stabs into the darkness.

Burning.

I can't think.

Pain explodes in my stomach.

Blood.

Fading in and out.

Screams and heartbeats pound in my ears.

 _I'VE BEEN SHOT._

Panic rushes through my body.

I can't move.

I can't see.

I can't breathe.

Dust and blood.

Arms wrap around me.

The thud of every step is agony.

There's something.

Something I forgot.

I can't think.

Someone.

Fading in and out.

Red.

Red.

Someone red.

I'm red.

But her—her?—red's not blood.

I'm bleeding.

I got shot.

I'm going to die.

 _I'M GOING TO DIE._

Someone.

Who?

She?

Red.

Friend.

I can't breathe.

 _THINK._

Wanda.

"She's safe." A man's voice. A different man.

Wanda?

"Don't worry about her. Vision's got her."

WANDA.

"Just stay calm, you're going to be fine."

Red.

Blood.

 _I'M GOING TO DIE._

"Just stay calm."

Black.

Nothing.

"Just…"

Nothing.

* * *

 **A/N: Gotta admit, it's kind of a relief to have that mess over with. It was SO HARD to write. That's why it took forever to write, like, a thousand words. Let me know how it was!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Holy heck. This chapter was sooooo hard to write and sooooo emotional. I think I started crying about a million times trying to write this. But yeah, this is...after. I hope you enjoy! (Or cry, that's good too)**

* * *

My eyes blink open. I feel my eyelashes tickle my cheeks. But everything's still black. The rest of my body comes into focus. I'm lying down. Stiff sheets press my body into the bed. I can feel the tubes that are stuck into my arm, hear a heart monitor.

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

 _I'm alive._

 _Beep._

 _That's what that means._

 _Beep._

 _I'm alive._

 _Beep._

 _But he's not._

Crushing weight collapses onto my chest.

I can't breathe.

"Sera?" Her voice is soft, uncertain.

 _She is._

She'll want to know. She'll ask where I was, what I was doing.

I can't tell her. I can't explain. I just can't.

"Sera," she repeats. I can hear the dried tears in her voice.

I don't say anything.

What is there to say?

"Sera, please." She sounds so tired.

 _Has she slept?_

I don't know what to say.

I hear the door open.

"Mr. Stark has requested your presence." It's a man's voice. Not one of the ones I heard before.

"Thanks, Vizh. I'll be out in a minute."

The door clicks shut.

 _She's found new friends._

 _She doesn't need me anymore._

My chest loosens a little.

"I'll be back soon," she says after a moment of silence.

I hear a creak, a rustling, a click.

She's gone.

Gingerly, I push myself into a sitting position.

There's nothing. No twinge of pain, no stiches ripping.

I feel around under the covers. My fingers explore my stomach, my arm, my shoulder. Nothing.

 _Maybe…maybe that didn't really happen. Somehow. I've had worse nightmares. Maybe…maybe I was…drugged up or something. Somehow. And I hallucinated all of that. Maybe…maybe he's not…not really…dead._

My chest loosens some more.

But Wanda's voice was so…broken. _Maybe she was just worried about me. No, that's dumb, she doesn't care that much. But maybe she's…stressed out. Obviously, she's joined a new team. They all speak English. That's probably hard to adjust to. Yeah. She probably went to tell Pietro I'm awake. Yeah. Any second now, he's going to walk in._

 _He's going to walk in._

 _Oh, gosh. That means having to explain._

 _You can do that as long as it means he's not…gone._

 _If he'll just walk through that door, I'll tell them everything. I'll beg them to forgive me. They'll understand. It'll be just like it was before. It'll all be fine. You'll see._

 _Just walk through that door._

The door clicks open.

A single pair of footsteps.

 _Please._

 _Please._

 _PLEASE._

"They told me I should give you some space."

My heart falls like a stone into my stomach.

"Where's Pietro?" Those two words scrape out of my throat. They hang in the air for a moment, sounding ugly and selfish.

"Clint said…he said you knew," she replies. Her voice is hollow, broken.

"Knew what?"

But I know. I know.

 _Not for sure._

"…About Pietro," she says.

 _Please no._

"Don't make me say it." Tears choke into her voice.

 _JUST SAY IT!_

She takes a couple of shuddering breaths.

"He…was. Killed."

 _Killed._

 _Oh._

 _Killed._

 _He's…dead? No, he can't. He can't. He can't—I can't. What? No. No. It just can't. Not him. Not now. No. No. NO. Gone. Gone? Gone. Not. No. Can't. I—I can't. What? Not true. Can't be. Just can't. I won't—I can't. Never. No. NO. True. All true. Not a dream. Just lying to myself. Fooling myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But it can't. Can't. Just can't. But it is. Is it? Has to be. Wanda. WANDA. She said. She said it._ _No, no, no no no no no no. NO. Too soon._ _Too young. No. No._

His blood. On my hands. His body. Under my hands. Sickening. Sick. _My fault. Ovechkin. My fault. I did this. I…did…this. Oh. Oh. NO. NO. Not him. Not him. Why? Why him? I can't, I can't, I can't. There's no way. To move on. No way. I can't. I can't do this. I did do this. My fault, my fault. All my fault. Wanda? WANDA. Hates me. Now. Will hate me. Hate, hate. Hate Ovechkin. Hate me. Hate them. WHY? WHY HIM? Why not me? Me. I deserve it. He. He didn't. He was good. Good. Better. Good. Too good. Too good._ His laugh, his smile, his kiss. _His kiss._ I breathe. I shudder.

 _Love? Love. Maybe. I don't know. Too late. Too late. For him. For me. Too late. I was too late. I failed. I did this. I…killed…no. NO. Not me. Not me. But yes. I know. Me. All me. Hate. Hate me. I hate me. Me. My fault. Dead…dead…NO. No. It can't. I can't. NO. He'll never know. Know me. Know what I did. Good._

 _But I can't explain. Too late. Too late. Too late. It's all too late. Because of me. ME. So much death. Because of me. My fault. I hate me. I did this. All of this. Milo. Milo, too. Milo for him. For…Pietro. Still dead. All dead. I killed them. Me. ME. Pietro. His hair. His curly hair. His fire. His defiance. His…he was so good._

 _Love? No. He can't. Couldn't. Love me. I did this. Hate me. All of them. Will hate me. Would hate me. I deserve it. But he never knew. Didn't know. Love? Love me? I don't know. I never know. Never will know. Can't know. Because of me. My fault. He's gone. Because of me. He didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve him. I deserve to die. Want to die. Please. Please. PLEASE. Just…please. I can't. Not anymore. Not now. Death…dying…relief._

 _No more hate._

 _No more me._

 _Can't hurt anyone else. No one else._

 _If I'm dead. Gone. Like him._

 _I deserve it._

 _He didn't._

 _I'm bad._

 _Wrong._

 _Monster._

 _Murderer._

 _He is good. Was good. Is good. Still good. Always good. Better. Than me. But still gone. Still…dead._

"I thought…you knew." Weak. Her voice. Weak. Sad. So sad. Broken. _Me. I'm broken. So broken. I broke…broke it all. They were good before me. Safe. Together. Not dead. Me. I ruined it. Me. My fault._

"Talk to me. Please. Sera." _Both broken. Both of us. My fault. My fault she's broken._ _My fault, my fault, my fault._

"I know…it hurts." Broken. So broken. "Just…talk to me. We can help each other. Please, Sera. Please." Tears. Tears in her voice. On her face. Tears in my chest. In my throat. Stuck. Just stuck. I can't talk past them. I don't even want to. What can I say? There's nothing, nothing I can say to make it better. It can't be better. It won't get better. Ever. _I can't do this. I can't just keep going. It hurts too bad._

"Everything will be all right…Life…it goes on. It will."

 _HA._

 _All right?_

 _All. Right._

 _But it won't. Ever._

 _It will never be all right._

 _Liar._

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 **A/N: So...that's it! I've made it to the end of my second full-length fanfiction! I'll write a 4-shot that goes into Sera trying to move on and stuff, but I felt like that wouldn't fit very well just added onto the end of this. So that will hopefully be coming soon...**


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